Shades of Black
by Esslyt
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING anxiety/depression/implied suicide/drug abuse/ Modern AU with a bit of magic
1. Freak

Chapter 1

First darkness of the day started to hug the light green building on a hill, slowly enveloping it in its blissful silence. On the 1st floor, in one of the countless rooms, slender fingers were clenching the white sheets. A clear fluid was dripping into the plastic in her vein and she patiently waited for the fluid to disappear from the bottle above her head. The ceiling was high, a bland white surface was persistent in its simplicity and gave her no response. She was alone, two beds next to her were hauntingly empty, white, with untouched sheets, waiting for some poor soul to call them their home. An invisible weight was sitting on her chest, something she had trouble explainin even to the physiatrist. A constant grasp, not painful, not even overly bearing on her ability to breathe, just a numbing sensation of a burden she tried to avoid. It seemed like she could never breathe fully because of it. Some nights, she would wake up shivering from a nightmare, her, washing her palms from layers of green mold, sinking them fully into the burning alcohol, scraping the surface with sharp knives, cutting her skin in the process. Sometimes, she would dream she was chased through the woods, never being able to run fast enough. She would run to a building with a yellow facade, trying to turn the doorknob but always finding the door locked. One time, she wore a dress made out of green and blue velvet, just like her mother wore. And her skin became all blue velvet, her face and chest, soft and dark. Just as she started to enjoy this new reflection, her face would start to fall apart in pieces, falling on her beautiful new dress and ruining it with warm blood and dragging pieces of skin. In those nights, they would give her her medicine and tie her hands to the metal edges of her bed, leaving her in a dreamless state of emptiness. Medications didn't help her forget, they only made her not care or react to the images in her head. She saw them clearly, pictures of her family, events that happened after that, people that hurt her, and how she hurt them back and a person she became at the end. No one ever apologised for making her this way.

She used to be so innocent that everyone that knew her described her as a last smidgen of hope and light this world has. Gentle, kind and out of this world beautiful, she was modest and reserved in her virtuous nature, a maiden, a virgin. Everything good with the world found it's home in her presence. There was something deeply perverse in the way that image was ruined. Almost a divine portrait of a sixteen year old girl was dressed in a red sequin dress, drenched in bourbon somewhere in a smoke filled room and touched over and over again until it had lost its shine. She was still strikingly beautiful, but her eyes grew heavier, dimmer and finally, dead. They were like pale, glazed glass, an icy home that shined, but never exerted any warmth. Nothing is the thing they were, nothing is what she felt, not because she didn't wanted to, but because she wasn't able to. When nothing matters, nothing is a threat. Maybe she could have been able to live like that till the end of her short and tainted life, but now, there was no way to know for sure. Something uneasy found it's way into her chest and settled there, waiting. Soon, the nightmares started to happen, vivid splashes of flesh and faces haunted her when she slept. So she stopped sleeping. But then the air around her became thicker with each passing day and it took a great effort to breathe. And her solemn, forgotten heart beat like it was screaming in agony. The nights became impossible to bear and she finally collapsed after a month of hiding from whatever was haunting her. That's when they took her to St. Helens hospital and left her there. No one came for her in the days to come, and surprisingly, she didn't cared for leaving. If she could have it her way, she would forever stay in this state, frozen and unaware of the past, present and the future.

The doctors had no complaints, she was a quiet and cooperative patient, taking her medication and spending the day in her room. When they told her to speak to psychiatrist, she did. A tall figure, over 6 feet, with white patches of hair and big goggles watched and listened as she spoke. Her words were empty, no emotion and no meaning. She pleaded to the doctor to make her feel something again. He didn't respond.  
After she turned sixteen, it seemed like all of her life became a string of fabricated pictures she would color in like a child would, convincing herself that her skin has turned from porcelain to ivory to steel, that she knew why she lives the life she is living, that she somehow chose it. She was so young, so naive, so unaware of how the world did it's bidding. - She is a gentle soul. - the nurse told her father one time when she was in a hospital. - One wrong look and she could collapse, she is so fragile.

Everything in her life became a lie, a glistening, expensive lie she lived because of one man. Petyr Baelish. He took her in after her family was brutally butchered, gave her a home and a sense of a shelter. In the first year, he was distant, but always made sure she had everything she wished for. Even though he clothed her, fed her and kept her warm, she knew nothing about the man. He liked his home clean and tidy to the point of obsession and he always smelled the same, mint, musk and a hint of tobacco. One time, he heard her sing, sitting in the living room, an empty gaze in her eyes. Every time since then, he would ask her to come in his office and sing for him after dinner. She would sit in a large leather chair next to the window, looking at the gardens of Harrenhal, covered in a black blanket and hummed a tune she remembered her mother singing. He would sit at his desk and drink wine, rarely even looking at her. He told her he likes to hear her sing in the background, it made him calm knowing exactly where she was. Petyr Baelish was a rich man, there was no doubt in that and he didn't advocate any kind of false modesty. Even his servants wore better clothes than most of King's Landing. He owned nightclubs and bars all over the Seven Kingdoms. Some even say that he managed his business in way that no honorable man would, but Sansa didn't care for that. She was alone, but sheltered. He never mistreated her and had no interest in the girl besides her basic needs.

All that changed when she turned sixteen. He took her to one of his lavish establishments, a hotel, a casino and a nightclub all in one. A real Mecca for all things luxury and decadent. She used to read about such places in books, where men used bills as lighters for their cigars and played high stake poker games for all things imaginable. Even people. He gifted her with a red silk dress with sequin bust that cinched her small breasts and a black fur overcoat to keep her warm in that cold January night. Room designated for poker was filled with bearded gentleman dressed in suits, musty with sweat, brandy and tobacco. Serving girls were dressed in underwear decorated with feathers and zircon bustiers that left little to the imagination. Even though the room was dim, everything seemed to shine. From her diamond earrings to crystal clear glasses filled with alcohol and smirks men gave to one another between deals.

\- If I win, will you sing for us sweetling? - Petyr asked.

Sansa promised herself after her family died she would never allow herself to be afraid so she accepted his offer. Petyr won that night and Sansa sang for them. Her voice was always shaky, but it was the thing that gave her singing substance. There was almost palpable somberness in her singing, tunes flowed easily like water but sounded nothing like it. If one could taste her singing, one would describe it as mellow summer wine and dark chocolate melting over it, rich and not everyone's favourite.

The one with the name Roose Bolton suggested Petyr should make her famous, a film star beauty like Sansa should not go to waste. That's exactly what happened. Sansa liked the power she gained over men, they showered her with jewels and riches from all over the world, scented salts and oils from Essos, snake skin from Dorne, silk and delicacies from the Reach, everything was hers. And when the night came, she enjoyed them in other ways. Some she liked because of the way they looked, tall and handsome, some she found interesting enough to talk to and some she took to her bed because she didn't liked the way their wives talked about her. She took them because she could. Petyr always told her to take what she can, if she chooses so. Their wives envied her, but the men wanted to kill for just a moment with her charming, radiant presence. Petyr was no different and even though he never shared her bed, she held a strong grasp on him. Once she realized the power her looks had over him, she took advantage of it. Because she could. It was the only thing left for her, endless stream of raw power she played with. Cersei told her that once, that a woman had a peculiar influence over a man and if she uses it correctly, he would give her the world.

No friends and no family, she filled her existence with extravagant dinners and parties, avoiding the hole that persisted in her. Until now.

\- No family members? - she heard the doctor the other day.  
\- Just one. - a half-brother that lives up North. - the nurse answered.

Baelish did come to see her, one time, but she felt like she would break in half if she saw him again so she declined his invite to return to Harrenhal. She had the money and she could go anywhere in the world. But she wanted to go home, go North. Last time she saw Jon they were children but he was the only family she had left. She needed to be with her own blood, the need for someone hers was undeniable. What would Jon say when he sees her? Would he even care for his estranged half-sister? She had to know for herself. He was her last hope.

Sansa was quietly pacing around the grand hall of the Westerosi bank. Her heels made a sound that echoed around her, bouncing off the marble walls. It was well pass normal working hours of a bank, but Sansa knew a wealthy banker that knew a security guard that let her in. _Friends and foes can be found in strangest places._ \- She remembered Petyr's words. The banker wasn't her friend, but he wasn't a foe either, just a man she sang for once. Her name had a weight to it, a meaning and an image behind it and it was all Petyr's doing. Her fiery red hair and face pale as snow was recognizable from the Dorne to the Wall. With all the fame and gossip that surrounded the social elite of King's Landing, Sansa feared what Northerners thought about her now, after what happened. She was of noble bloodline, after all. Long time ago Starks had dominion of the North; they were the high lords and ladies with vast lands to control and thousands of vassal lords and knights sworn to them. It was like something from an old novel with kings, queens and gallant knights in armor that shined like moonlight, old times when honor held a great value in everyday lives and it was all so very different than the world they lived in now.

\- Mrs. Stark? – A thin man with a pointed beard called her name. She turned with eagerness in her eyes. – Please, come with me. – He pointed in the direction of one of the small rooms in the background. Sansa followed him without a word. She sat in a padded chair across the man as he started to type on his computer.

\- How much would you like to extract from your account? – the thin man asked. Sansa thought for a moment. How much money did she really need? She was just visiting Jon and had no plans on making any big purchases while in the North. She didn't know how long she would stay and it was never in her plans to move permanently there. She loathed King's Landing and all she knew for sure is that she couldn't stay a minute longer than necessary. She did on the other hand like the security and the freedom money gave her. - A thousand Gold Dragons. – She finally said. The man continued to type, not looking at her.

\- Hmmm… - he stopped. Sansa frowned waiting for him to say more. – I'm sorry. Mrs. Stark, there is not enough funds in your account to make that transaction.

\- That's impossible. – Sansa smiled politely. – Please, do try again. – Man sighed and continued to study the screen.

\- No, I'm sorry. – His voice was dry. – The available amount for the transaction is 398 Moons and 7 Stags. – Sansa felt like someone just punched her in the stomach, kicking the air out of her lungs.

\- There must be some kind of a mistake. – She was slowly getting impatient. – I haven't used my account in weeks and the last time I checked there was more than a thousand Gold Dragons available. – Her hands started shaking as she was clenching the leather handles of her purse.

\- There was one transaction… - the thin man squinted at the screen. – Four days ago. Most of your funds have been allocated to the account in Braavos.

\- I told you, I haven't made any transactions in weeks. – Sansa felt dizzy. This all seemed like a bad practical joke, like someone was toying with her.

\- Well, there is a copy of the verification with the date and signature on it. – She heard the slow hum of the printing machine. The man handed to her the paper with the conformation that almost all of the money she had is to be allocated to one account in the Iron Bank of Braavos. And at the bottom of the paper, Sansa saw her signature. She felt like she could faint. Noticing her shock, the thin man continued – If you think that there is some fraud in play, I advise you to investigate. But unfortunately, this is all I can do for now. Her face became a translucent gray color; her chin was shaking and her palms were sweaty. She told the man to give her whatever is left of her money and left the bank in a hurry. While driving in a cab back home, there was only one name she could think of – Petyr Baelish.

Sansa left her apartment early that morning. She couldn't stand being in there longer than she needed. Now, her lovely apartment was infested with bad memories, the rooms seemed smaller and more crammed with meaningless things. In one hand she was holding a large suitcase filled to the brim with clothes and in the other her leather purse she held as close to her as she could. On her way to the train station she stopped at the jeweler, offering him most of the valuables she owned. Most of the jewelry was gifted to her, it was tainted with ulterior motives and she had no trouble giving it up. Emeralds from the Riverlands and extravagant necklaces and earrings from Essos, all of it was to be crushed, cut and molded into something new. She managed to get couple of hundreds Golden Dragons for her jewelry and she felt like a great burden has been lifted of her shoulders. All of the money she packed in a bag that was at the bottom of her purse, never leaving her side.

The train ride was peaceful and Sansa almost found herself falling asleep listening to the numbing sound of the train rolling on the tracks. But she didn't allow herself to sleep, not now when she felt more exposed than ever. She thought about Jon while watching the rainy horizon passing them in a blur. She hadn't seen him since they were children. It was almost fourteen years ago, she was seven and he was nine. He liked to pull her hair and she loathed being in his presence. She knew he was alive and well, he had sent his condolences when her parents died and she would hear about him now and then from family friends and people she knew in the North, but nothing more than that. He was a professional soldier for a while, after getting his engineering degree. Even though he lived alone for most of his childhood, it never seemed to stop him working tirelessly for the things he wanted. A well-paid job, a home and a normal life. Nothing in his life was given to him, Jon was one of those rare people who had to work for every little thing he had. Sansa, on the other hand, had everything handed to her. For all she knew, Jon could hate her, turn her away and close his door forever. He had every right to do so. He was never part of any family function or gathering and out of all the Stark siblings, Sansa hated Jon the most. It pained her to see her mother be so hurt by what her father did and she always had seen Jon as a permanent stain on her family name. But, there was nothing she or anyone else could do when her father decided to give a part of their inheritance to Jon. Funnily enough, now, she saw herself as a disgrace, a child that is no better than a bastard. In her moments of doubt she was even thankful that her family was dead so they couldn't witness the person she became.

As soon as they passed the Neck, the ground was covered in a thin layer of snow that grew thicker the more north the train went. Jon lived in a remote village in the outskirts of Winterfell in an old two story house, framed with tall pine trees on each side. A wide porch was covered in snow and there was no light in the windows. She knocked on heavy wooden doors, her gentle hand covered in black leather gloves. Sansa heard the rustle on the other side and a hunched, thin woman with face gray as ash opened the door slightly peeking through. She looked at Sansa from her toes to her forehead with a frown, studying the slender young woman standing in front of her.

\- What do you need? - the woman asked.

\- I'm Sansa Stark, Jon's younger... - Sansa started explaining.

\- I know who you are. - the lady interrupted her. - I asked what do you need? Her rudeness caught Sansa by surprise but he persisted. - I'm here to visit my brother.

\- He can't see you right now. - the woman said swiftly and started closing the door.

\- Please. - Sansa stopped her holding her right hand on the door. - I traveled all the way from King's Landing.

\- I told you miss, he cannot see you right now. - woman was visibly annoyed by Sansa's presence.

\- Why? Did he knew I'm coming? - Sansa's voice became higher. The woman sighed.

\- He's in bed with fever and will probably die by tomorrow morning. - she bluntly said. Sansa didn't even had the chance to process this new information and the lady closed the door locking it. She felt the all too familiar feeling of unease settling in her chest. The cold air started hurting her lungs as she tried to take deep breaths. She came all the way from King's Landing just to see her brother, her last family member die. She saw herself being the only person at his funeral, burying that stranger into the soft ground. Thoughts blazed through her mind, scattering around her and then returning like thousand of small needles, piercing every part of her being. - Hey, open up! - she started yelling, pounding with her fists at the door. Everything around her became shaky and before she could see the door open, her thin body landed in a fresh layer of snow on the porch.

She woke up hours later, laying on a futon next to the open fireplace. Slowly peeling herself from the cushions, she tried to remember what happened. Without a doubt, she had another panic attack. A sore spot on her head was a proof of how bad it truly was. Sansa was alone in the living room, her coat was still on and her purse was next to her head. She frantically searched for the money and was relieved when she found out it was all there. The living room was in dissaray, it was dimly lit, dusty and brown. Just as her eyes started to explore her surroundings, she heard the voices in the corridor approaching her. A male voice, deep with a thick Northern accent and another one, belonging to that old woman. A tall man entered the room, hair and beard in a peculiar shade of grayish red. He approached Sansa slowly.

\- Are you okay? - Sansa slightly nodded watching the old lady still with a frown on her face. - You'll have to excuse Mrs. McWagen, she means well. - the man continued. - I'm Grenn, Jon's friend. - he introduced himself.

\- I'm Sansa, Jon's sister. - she finally said. - Where is Jon? Grenn shared a concerned look with Mrs. McWagen before saying - Upstairs.

\- Can I see him? - Sansa felt her voice shaking. They were all silent for the moment, Mrs McWagen was looking at the crooked floor while Sansa waited for one of them to speak. - I see no harm in that. - Grenn smiled.

The air in Jon's room was warm and stale and the room was lit only with one candle at the bed stand. Sansa walked slowly closer, inspecting the face buried in the pillow. Dark curly hair framed his wide forehead, he was pale with pink scars on his cheeks. A large bandage that stretched over his chest was drenched in oxygenated blood. He struggled for every breath and Sansa could almost feel his pain.

\- What happened? Is there a doctor? - she turned and asked Grenn.

\- He didn't want one. - Grenn quietly answered.

\- I'm afraid Mr. Snow can't afford one now. - Mrs McWagen added. Sansa's eyes widened in shock hearing that. - We have to call a doctor. He needs medical treatment, quickly. - she came closer, almost touching the edge of his bed. - Do you have a car? We need to get to the hospital. - she heard her voice breaking. Grenn and Mrs McWagen only stood there watching her look at Jon, then them, then Jon.

\- He got shot. - Grenn said. - If we called a doctor, he would have to report it to the authorities. - There was great sadness in his voice, but none of the ferocity to help his friend. - I respect his wish. - Grenn added.

\- He is going to die if we don't do something! - Sansa started yelling again. She didn't care why Jon got shot, who shot him and why he didn't wanted to call a doctor. He was her only remaining relative and she didn't come this far only to watch him die. Jon muttered something hearing her. She sat at the edge of his bed looking at his heavy eyelids lifting revealing the darkest eyes Sansa ever saw. She touched his hand. He was blazing hot.

\- You... - Jon whispered.

\- Jon, shhh, don't... - she squeezed his fingers in her hand. This was the first time after so many years and it might be the last time she will ever talk to him. - Call the best doctor there is in Winterfell. - she turned, her blue eyes piercing through Grenn. - Call someone!

\- Yes... - Grenn said with the slight smile.

\- I will pay for his time and silence. - Sansa added quietly, her eyes resting on Jon's. - He has to live... - she whispered. - You have to live Jon... - her white fingers touched his face. His eyes were closed and he whispered.

\- You...are you a dream?

Chapter 2

Sansa was in Jon's home not more than couple of hours and she could already feel bad memories latching onto the objects around her. It happened sometimes with certain items. When something happened that struck her deeply, things she associated with people or situations, became somehow strange, shifted and she started to fear to look or touch them. Jon's clock that hanged on the wall in the living room was no different. With every new tick, Sansa felt the tension in her muscles rise. She was sitting on an old sofa, her long legs crossed, one hand over her belly and the other clenched in a fist, covering her mouth. The sofa smelled of old fabric, dust and mold and it made Sansa even more on edge. The smell of mildew consumed her and she felt an almost incontrollable urge to clean. In her head, she already rearranged the furniture so this room can remind her less of the fact that Jon might die tonight.

Grenn promised to call the best doctor he could think of and convince him to come to this remote location Jon called his home. Sansa begged him to take Jon to the hospital, but Grenn was unrelentingly against it. No matter what Sansa said, she couldn't breach the wall Grenn built around Jon's decision to be as secretive with this as he could. When she asked him how Jon got shot, she was met with a vague answer that Jon got in a fight in a bar and got shot. He claimed he didn't knew much more, but Sansa, spending so much time in the King's Landing fabrications of truth, knew he was lying. Grenn avoided her and decided to stay in the room with Jon and Mrs. McWacgen hid herself in the kitchen, scrubbing the sink. Every little sound made Sansa's belly cramp and the sound of a cleaning sponge repeatedly rubbing the metal was driving her crazy. The weather outside was getting worse and the snow started heavily falling on an already thick white layer on the ground. Sansa worried that the doctor might not get here in time.

The sound of the car tires made her jump. She ran to the window and saw a small car pulling over. A bald guy in a chunky gray coat approached the front door. She rushed to answer it, but Mrs. McWagen was faster. She let the man in taking his wet coat and hanging it.

\- Good evening Miss Stark. And you, dear Mary. I know this particular night isn't, but that wouldn't be much of a greeting, would it? - he smiled. - I'm doctor Luwin. - the man said offering Sansa his right hand.

\- I'm Sansa Stark. - said Sansa feeling the warm, wrinkly skin and it's comforting grasp.

\- If I may ask what happened here. - said Luwin while they were climbing up the stairs to Jon's room.

\- Grenn can explain. - Mrs. McWagen answered before Sansa could react. Her thin smile and small yellow eyes gave no emotion.

\- Oh, I'm sure he can, Mary. - Luwin sighed. He was carrying a rugged brown bag filled with what Sansa hoped was medicine. They entered the room. Grenn was sitting in the corner, nervously cracking the knuckles on his hands. Luwin walked to the Jon's bed without hesitation, slowly inspecting him. He was gentle, but fast. He lifted Jon's bandages revealing a deep wound, rimmed with black and purple bruising.

\- There is no need for any of you to watch this. - he turned, looking at each of them individually. - I'll come back when I'm done. Mrs. McWagen turned and walked away almost immediately. She was a cold woman, Sansa thought. If she knew Jon, she didn't care for him, otherwise she would feel even a little bit disturbed by the state he was in. And if she didn't, she was still too distant for any normal human being to be in this situation. Grenn on the other hand, couldn't hide the way he felt. Sansa noticed he seemed more tense now that the doctor was here then before, he was twitching and playing with his fingers and he didn't say a word since he called Luwin.

Sansa cared for Jon not dying tonight. It wasn't sadness she felt, it was fear. Fear of something slipping away just before she could grasp it. She felt his pain, but not his wound. The way he was trying to breathe reminded her of the cage intertwined with her own ribs. Sansa didn't feel like crying, in reality she felt no emotional connection to Jon. It was the way of how loosing him would feel that frightened her. He was the last of the Stark she had left in her life, even though he didn't shared her last name. Selfishness made her crumble in front of his pain, not compassion.

She and Grenn left the room leaving Jon in Luwin's hands hearing his indistinguishable mumble while Luwin tended to his wound. They sat in the living room in silence. Grenn buried his face in his palms and Sansa curled up on a futon holding her knees to her chest. If he lives, what would he say to her?

\- Did Jon ever mention me? - Sansa broke the silence. Grenn looked at her, his eyes red from exhaustion.

\- He said he had a sister in the South. - Grenn stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet. He poured whiskey in two glasses and handed one to Sansa. - No, thank you. - She refused. She couldn't stand the smell of alcohol.

\- Suit yourself. - said Grenn drinking the entire glass at once. - Jon doesn't talk much about his family. - He continued. - I knew the man for years and I knew nothing about him.

\- I can understand why he would be like that. - Sansa thought of all the times Jon wasn't part of her family.

\- He doesn't talk about anything much, really. - said Grenn while pouring another drink.

\- This may sound odd... - Sansa said carefully. - But what does Jon do for a living? Grenn chuckled hearing that. He sat across her, resting his back in the soft cushion. - He used to work for the military, after he stopped being a professional soldier. And now, with so much things being different in the North, he stopped working.

\- He doesn't have a job? - Sansa asked, not expecting an answer. Looking around her, it made perfect sense. Jon's home was more of a ruin than a house, with wallpapers peeling off in the corners and old furniture covered in dust.

\- My father left him a part of the inheritance in his will. - Sansa frowned thinking about where could all that money went.

\- Our father. - Grenn noted. - He was Jon's father too. - he finished quietly.

Sansa felt a hard sting hearing Grenn say that so easily to her. There was no denying that they shared a father, no matter how much Sansa still wasn't aware of that. Eddard Stark was always her father and Jon's was his mistake, not a son. The room was filled with silence again and the only thing Sansa could hear was that damned clock ticking.

They heard the steps on the corridor signaling that doctor Luwin was finished. Mrs. McWagen followed him holding a seven pointed star in her hands. She was praying.

\- I did what I could with the time that was given to me. - said Luwin. - Jon will be fine. - he smiled. - Oh, thank the Old Gods and the New. - Mrs. McWagen's face lit up with hope. Grenn thanked the doctor, but still remained reserved in his reaction. She was sure that there was something Grenn was hiding.

\- I took the bullet out. Our friend had mad luck surviving his one. If he got shot a bit higher, the bullet would have pierced the lung. - Luwin explained.

\- Would you care for some tea? - Mrs. McWagen asked. Hearing that Jon will recover, her voice became full of warmth. - I would love to. - Luwin nodded. Grenn shook his head, still holding his whiskey.

\- And you, Miss Stark? - to Sansa's surprise, Mrs. McWagen's offer seemed genuine. - Yes... - Sansa answered. Mrs. McWagen went to the kitchen, humming an unrecognizable melody. Luwin sat and continued talking. Grenn and Sansa were quietly thankful for the talkative doctor bridging an uncomfortable gap between them.

\- I managed to stop the bleeding. He lost a lot of blood, but the wound didn't had the chance to get inflamed. - Mrs. McWagen brought the tea interrupting Luwin's speech. Mint and chamomile, for the nerves and the belly, as she said.

\- I'll come in two days to check on him. - Luwin took a sip. - In the meantime, give him plenty of rest, plenty of painkillers and change his bandages if needed. - Luwin looked at Sansa. - Your brother is the most stubborn person ever to be born to this world. If he could, he would change them himself. - Sansa smiled at that, it was the first real thing she learned about Jon.

The kind old man stayed only for a little bit, finishing his tea and he left in the same mood he came - calm. He insisted on Grenn calling him immediately if something would go wrong and assured him that no one will ever find out that he was there. Sansa paid the man handsomely and he almost seemed offended by the money. He took it nonetheless and Sansa didn't regret any of it.

Mrs. McWagen prepared her guest room, a small room on the second floor, all painted in white. The smell of fresh sheets reminded Sansa of how tired she truly was.

\- I'm sorry for being this way today. - she said while she and Sansa made the bed. - He doesn't trust people and I don't trust them either. - her small frame seemed even smaller now when Sansa had a better chance to look at her.

\- That sounds like Jon. - Sansa sighed. - Even though I know nothing about him, that sounds like Jon.

\- I still think you shouldn't have come. - Mrs. McWagen added. - He likes to be left alone. - Sansa felt her gaze passing up and down her body. - And from what I've heard, you don't seem like someone who's company he would enjoy.

\- With all due respect, Mrs. McWagen... - Sansa raised her voice. - I think I have a right to hear that from him.

Mrs. McWagen smiled gently and said - I don't think ill of you, dear Sansa. But he might. And you must know that.

Chapter 3

 _-_ You should eat before going to the Sept. - Sansa heard her mother's voice. Her sister sat next to her, eating her scrambled eggs. Her leg was in a thick cast that reached above her left knee and her fingers were nervously tapping on the white surface. - Sansa, eat. - her mother said. - I don't want you to faint again. When Sansa was six, she fainted during the winter ceremony. She blamed the incense and the fur collar of her winter coat. Nonetheless, ever since then, Catelyn never let any of her daughters to go to the service without having a proper breakfast. Sansa fainted half a dozen of times after that unfortunate incident. - She's afraid she'll get fat. - Arya said with her mouth full of food. She always said what was on her mind, no matter how unrefined it was.

When Arya was born, Sansa cried secretly for days, fearing the loss of the love her parents gave her. But as Arya grew, so did Sansa's love for her. They rarely agreed on anything but no one could make her laugh like her baby sister. Wild and outspoken, Arya liked to impersonate the little quirks their mother had, the way she sounded when she was annoyed or confused and all the funny ways their father tried to teach them in the ways of the world. Arya broke her leg on her nameday and she loved to retell that story. Even being in pain, Arya laughed and Sansa laughed with her seeing her being forced to pee in a bucket because she couldn't move her leg and go to the bathroom. One time, she made her laugh so hard, Sansa ate a fly on accident, gasping for air. Their bond was once the only thing that mattered to Sansa, her trust and love for Arya was so deep Sansa thought that if everything should fail, she would still have her little sister. It was important that she has Arya. She carried a peculiar trait with her her whole life. Everything that would happen to her, she experienced deeper and longer than any of her other siblings. Some things never let go of her and in those times, Arya's laugh was all she prayed for.

\- Ned, stop, Ned, he's dead! - They were standing in front of their home in Winterfell, her father was on his knees, his strong hands pressing on the chest of their neighbour, Rodric Cassel. But her father didn't stop. His back was turned and Sansa could hear him crushing the man's ribcage.

\- Father... - Sansa called out to him, hoping he would turn. - Let me see you. - Sansa felt windpipe tighten. Her words woke up Mr. Cassel. He opened his eyes, looked at her and it seemed his eyes were all she could perceive. Her mother and father disappeared and all of a sudden, it was pitch black. Her body was drawn to the man laying on the ground. Sansa tried to move away, but her limbs became limp like rubber.

\- He is dead Sansa. - Mr. Rodric said laughing. - Dead, all dead and rotten. She tried to scream, but no sound left her vocal cords. Something brushed her leg. She was in her room in King's Landing. A small lion cub softly purred touching her. Sansa took the cub in her hands, pressing it's warm body against her bosom. The lion was calm, his paws digging into the blue velvet of her dress. She caressed the animal, passing slowly though it's fur. The small lion slept on her chest for what felt like hours. It's affection comforted her, she rocked the cub like she would rock a child in her arms. It's delicate shape seeped over her skin and she enjoyed it. Her dress became wetter the closer she held the cub. She looked at the animal and saw two trails of bloody tears on its golden muzzle. Sansa threw the cub on the floor and its baby skull shattered, blood sprayed her face making her quiver in disgust. Her skin started itching and she dug her nails deep trying to take her dress off. The top was drenched in blood. A frantic image of her skin in boils that smelled of decaying flesh and medicine flashed before her eyes. Skin on her palms became firmer, thicker. Sansa watched the brown mold sprout from her skin, covering her fingers entirely. _The knife_ , she thougt. She diligently scraped the layers off, but as soon as she saw the pink skin emerge, the new layer appeared making her scrape harder.

\- Oh, trust me, she paid for what she did! Did it ever occurred to you that she suffered too? She probably relives that moment each day. - Sansa was angry, yelling at someone.

\- No, stop. - she heard a male voice behind her.

\- You're wrong. - Sansa said.

\- No! Leave. Just leave, please. Never speak to me again.

\- No, you can't be angry with me because I think you should forgive her.

\- Leave!

A gunshot woke Sansa up. She inhaled the cold air, a sharp pain filled her lungs. The night was silent and the creamy moonlight was crawling into her room. She was alone.

\- Let me die. - she whispered. - Please. She curled up in her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. - Let me sleep and never wake up. - her heart was racing but it was the invisible weight on her chest that hurt the most. She couldn't move and she barely allowed herself to breathe. Maybe, if she was silent enough, she would be left alone. - Please, let me die... - she repeated until the dreamless slumber took over her.

It was still dark outside when Sansa finally woke up. She walked to the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water avoiding her own reflection in the mirror. Black traces of mascara ran down her pale cheeks, framing her blue eyes in black. She caught a glimpse of herself in the small mirror when she reached for the towel. A stranger looked back at her. Ever since the first nightmares started, she felt like someone carved her out of her real life an molded her into a parallel universe with all the same players, but somehow slightly shifted. It was barely noticeable in her day to day life, but when she stopped and just rested for a bit, she could feel a little misstep in the way things moved around her. It felt wrong and most of all, it didn't feel real. Somewhere, in the back of her head, a hope lingered that she is just dreaming. All of it was a long, bad dream and she should wake up soon. She will go back to her old home in Winterfell, her old life and familiar ways. This can't be real, I must be dreaming, she thought to herself. Nothing this frightening could ever feel real.

On her way back, she passed by the Jon's room. Mrs. McWagen insisted on staying with him during the night, in case there was an emergency. But, when Sansa walked in, Mary was no where to be seen. Jon was sleeping on his back, his bare chest was covered with a heavy blanket. If someone were to see him now, they would never guessed that this man is recovering from a gunshot wound. He slept calmly, breathing steadily and Sansa allowed herself to sit on the edge of his bed. The sky was light lavender blue and there was enough light for Sansa to look at him closely now, alone and uninterrupted. He had a symmetrical face, black hair he got from her father and a messy beard framing his jaw. _What were the last words they spoke?_ \- She asked herself trying her hardest to remember Jon as a child. He was two years older than her and truth be told, she didn't knew life without Jon in it, one way or another. He lived with his adoptive parents until he was fourteen, left to join the military and continued living on his own. He found out he was adopted at he age of nine and that was first and only time he and the Stark family had any interactions. Sansa remembered his adoptive parents vaguely; a couple that was unable of having children of their own took him in when he was an infant and rased him as a Snow. Jon Snow, the last person that shared her Stark blood but in the eyes of Gods and men, he wasn't able to call himself that. He was the last thing left of her family. Sansa tried to imagine what life he could have lived, finding out such an important truth about who he is at such a young age. No wonder he preferred to be alone. Just like her, he didn't belong anywhere. Though, it was a different kind of not belonging that Sansa faced. She had a home and a family. She lost it while Jon never truly had it.

Jon squirmed turning in his bed. It never occurred to Sansa that he might wake up. If he does, what would she do? What would she say? _I'm your sister, a foreigner that reached out to you now because I have nothing left._ She sighed. Maybe Mrs McWagen was right, Jon owed her nothing, she was no one and according to everything she heard about Jon, it will probably stay that way. She touched his forehead; he was still hot, but not as nearly as he was before Luwin came. Just as she wanted to pull back, he grabbed her forearm.

\- I saw you. - he whispered, opening his eyes. Sansa gasped in surprise, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp. His eyelids were heavy, but he looked straight into her eyes. She was lost for words, hearing his voice clearly left her motionless.

\- I saw you in my dream... - he continued. His voice was coarse and deep, like a summer thunderstorm. - I saw you dancing in the flames. - his eyes closed again before he finished the sentence. His fingers relaxed, letting go of Sansa's arm. _He still has a high fever_ \- she exhaled in relief.

\- What else did you saw? - Sansa silently asked. She waited for the response and just when it seemed he fell back asleep, he muttered - Me... - Jon replied. - Me holding you. Fucking you in the pyre.

Sansa felt her insides flip hearing that. Jon took a deep breath and turned his head to the wall. Sansa stood still, listening to him breathe. Only when she was sure he was asleep, she stood up and walked out of his room. Her mind was deadened, turning into a numb, senseless mass. She crawled back under the covers, thinking of how nothing she encountered seemed right. Jon might be wounded and unaware of his words but they were etched forever in her mind.

\- _You are a whore._ \- she remembered the last words he told her. - _Selfish, two faced whore. But what disgusts me the most is that you are a coward._

A gunshot. She was the last person he spoke to before he killed himself. And she never allowed herself to think whether she is to blame. She would drive herself mad if she tried to dwell on it.

\- Please, let me die. - she repeated sinking into her own thoughts. She heard him, whispering in her ear. He was the only person she could talk to.

 _\- What happened to the soul you used to be?_

 _\- Imagine what you could have been - a pure one, the one that that moves against the world, not with it. One that loves and is loved. One in no need of redemption. One that is just right. They say that the definition of hell is your last day on Earth when the person you have become meets the person you could have been. What would you do if I told you how deep is the darkness of one's mind? Would you be scared? Called me a liar, a lunatic? If I told you that beyond anger, sadness and despair there is nothing. You don't feel cold, alone or frightened. You don't feel. You cease to exist. Once you go so far beyond anything a human heart can bear…it stops it all and starts beating endlessly into the silence. It's all dead. What I felt. I used to be something else. Now, I choose to be a monster._

 _\- You're not a monster._

 _\- But I am. If you knew what I did, who I truly was… you wouldn't even look at me. You shouldn't look at me, just move along and leave. No one plays with broken things, no one wants broken things. Leave me. My soul has grown cold, and my heart is a stone. They are silent tears, I don't cry, I eat them. I eat my tears for as long as I can possibly bear. And they I drown in them but I still don't allow myself to cry. I'm not worthy of my tears. Do you wonder if someone, somewhere, prays for you, wishes you well and thinks of you as the most beautiful creature ever to exist? I don't._

 _\- I'll pray for you._

 _\- No one would listen. Time only moves forward and we are its slave. After a while, even the Gods stop caring._

 _\- Why do you care?_

 _\- Because it's the only way I know how to live. Some things take a deep root within us and no amount of change will affect it. Even now, I can still see my father clearly. He was my entire world once, you know. I watched he world through his eyes. If he told me the sky was green and the grass blue, I knew it was the way it was supposed to be. He told me – Sansa, if you were to murder a man in cold blood, I would still love you the same. I'm glad he's not here to see me now. I would rather die in agony than see the disappointment in his eyes. Oh, how I loved him. They stole everything. It is such a quiet thing, to fall. But far more terrible is to admit it. My fall was so glistening, I didn't even saw it. It was not until I couldn't recognize myself anymore that I started to notice – I don't want this. He convinced me that the new world awaits. That I was a stupid little girl who knew nothing and that he would change me, fix me somehow and that I would become all that I was too afraid to wish for. I didn't know what I wanted. My family was no more and all the happiness seeped through my fingers as I mourned them. They told me I had to grow up. They killed my family and after they were long dead, they took them from me. My father's words… meaningless. My mother's faith – a delusion. My sister's laugh – a joke. How can there be any good in this world when my father, the most honorable man I knew lived a lie._

 _\- The life you lived is a farce, Sansa. They all lie, cheat and scheme. Your father loved your mother, but he still lay with another. If he was so weak, what do you think how the rest of us are? We are animals, Sansa. But even the wildest of us can be tamed. Watch them, learn from them and use them for what they're worth. There is no deeper meaning to human nature; it's the survival of the fittest. Don't trust anyone. There is no good or evil in the world. There is only power and ones with power define the rules._

 _\- Do you believe in the good in the world, Sansa? – Her father asked. – Yes. – She answered. – Then, if you believe there is a great deal of good out there, there must be evil as well. Sometimes, man can only pray to be strong enough to resist it. Nothing makes us good, we just are. And nothing makes us evil. We just are._

 _\- What will you do now?_

 _\- I don't know. I don't care. I want to go home. I need to wake up, Arson. I need to. I'm dreaming, aren't I? That's why it feels so numb. Oh, thank the Gods, that's why. It shifts just like in a dream, faces and shapes, they never stay the same and that must be the reason they are so ugly. You know, sometimes I think about her, she has a face of a viper and black curls just like Jon. She must have been a witch and my father is not the one to blame. I'm sure of it. He never did anything wrong. He would never hurt or leave us for that woman. There was nothing to forgive, he is not guilty._

She almost regressed to a childlike state of mind listening to her own thoughts. It always happened when she started thinking about her family; a true return home reviving the person she was last time when she was happy. In those moments, she was fourteen.

A gloomy Thursday sun graced the world with its presence. The snow stopped falling, wrapping the horizon in the white blanket. Her mother always used to say that the snow is like another chance for the world to paint itself. She saw Mrs. McWagen carrying the wood for the fire from her window. The thin woman was far stronger than she had let everyone to believe. Sansa wondered what her connection to Jon was. She could be his grandmother, a family friend or a simply cleaning lady even though all the things pointed towards Jon not paying her for her services. When she heard the rumble in the kitchen, she decided to leave her room and go downstairs. Mary was preparing the breakfast.

\- Good morning. – Sansa said. Her body was wrapped in an oversized sweater with a thick collar. Jon's home was a cold place at night.

\- Morning Miss Stark. – Mary said mixing the sour cream with crushed garlic. – There is oatmeal there. – she pointed to the counter with a rugged pot on it. – You must be starving. - Sansa poured the oatmeal in a bowl. It was bland, but warm, much like Mrs. McWagen herself. She seemed to be a lot less hostile now and she even offered Sansa tea.

\- Verbena, good for the soul. – Her smile was crooked. – And it protects from the charms and spells. It's a holy plant in the North. – Mary continued searching for the flour. Once she found a half-empty bag of it, she sighed in relief. – Thank the Gods, I won't have to go out.

Sansa slightly smiled looking at her. She was fast for a woman her age and her wrinkled hands kneaded the bread mixture with ease. Soon the kitchen was filled with the smell of freshly baked bread in the oven and Sansa started to relax more in her presence. Mrs. McWagen liked to talk. Her stories were short, intertwining with one another. She told Sansa about the herbs she used for her teas and how Northerners used verbena since the dawn of time for dream divination. Some Northern women could tell your entire future based on one dream. It made Sansa wonder, what would they say about her dreams. Mary rolled up her sleeves while cooking and Sansa noticed a small tattoo on the inside of her forearm. The tattoo was old and depicted an almost indistinguishable wolf head.

\- If I may ask… - Sansa started the question carefully while she cleaned up the table after breakfast. – The tattoo. It's the Stark sigil.

\- It is. – Mary started washing the dishes. Sansa waited for an explanation but she soon realized she is not going to get one so she asked again. – Do you have Stark ancestors?

\- No. – Mary said. – No Stark blood in my veins. – She frowned. Sansa felt Mrs. McWagen getting more distant.

\- I haven't seen the wolf's head since I was fourteen. – She remembered that day. It was the day of the funeral and all of the coffins were covered with white and green silk with an embroidered silver wolf's head on it.

\- It was the way to know who is a friend and who is a foe when the Great War waged its destruction all over the North. – Mary sat on a chair next to Sansa. She turned her forearm so Sansa could inspect the tattoo closely. – Women usually did it themselves, with a heated needle and a bit of ink.

\- Did it hurt? – Sansa was intrigued. It has been so long since she heard any northern stories.

\- No more than a bug bite. - Mary chuckled. – It was for us to always remember who we are and where we stand. – she rolled the sleeve down. – We were loyal to the North. The wolf's head is much more than an old house sigil. It was what defined us.

Mary stood proud, straightening her back. – I'll go check on Jon. I wouldn't be surprised if he was fully recovered by now. – Mary's eyes filled with concern. – He has a strength of a horse. – Mary shook her head. – But sometimes, a mind of a big fat moke. – Sansa genuinely laughed at that remark. She might even like Mrs. McWagen.

Mrs. McWagen went upstairs leaving Sansa alone. She decided to fire up a fireplace. Her plan met an unfortunate end when she realized there was nothing that could help her light the fire. She looked around her, but no matches and no lighter in sight. She started opening the big cabinets in the living room and slowly rummaging through them. In one of the drawers she found an old photo album, its edges were torn and the picture on the front was faded. Sansa stood still, listening. Nothing. Mrs. McWagen was still upstairs. Her curiosity won and she opened the photo album.

The first thing she noticed is that there were no pictures of Jon younger than an age of six. She saw him on his first day of school, smiling proudly even though his both front teeth were missing. In one, Jon was sitting at the very place she had sat in the kitchen. – _This is his family home. –_ Sansa thought. To her surprise, there were no pictures of his adoptive parents. It was always only Jon. Jon on a beach, Jon sleeping, Jon crying. And there were no pictures after he turned fourteen.

Just as she wanted to close the photo album and return it to its place, she noticed one photo that wasn't in the protective pockets of the album. Her stomach dropped looking at the familiar faces. It was that day when they took Jon to their home to meet them. She didn't remember that moment. They were all standing on the grass, next to the inflatable pool. Arya was five then, wearing nothing but her bottoms and pink sunglasses that covered half of her face. Robb saluted the person taking a photo, his other hand hugging Bran that avoided eye contact with the camera. On the far right there was Jon, his arm over her shoulder, standing so close to her, she could almost feel his touch just by looking at the photo. His curls were as messy as they are nowadays and he smiled looking at her. She remembered that one-piece bathing suit with pink and yellow roses. She saw her cousin wear it and after the constant urging she finally persuaded her mum to buy it.

Sansa couldn't help but smile seeing her siblings happy, forever frozen in time on that hot summer day. On the back of the photo, someone with a messy handwriting wrote – _Me and my brothers and sisters._ A small sun decorated the corner of the white background. It was young Jon's handwriting. All of a sudden, she felt sorry for the boy in the picture. She closed the album, carefully returning it in a drawer. She was so focused on not making a sound that she didn't even notice someone standing behind her.

\- Sansa… - she turned and gasped looking at the grown Jon in front of her. – Sansa. – He repeated. – We need to talk.

Sansa felt the floor under her tremble. It wasn't the earthquake but her own knees betraying her. Her heart dropped into her stomach as Jon was waiting for her to respond. He was fully dressed and was standing next to the end table by the couch. Mary was standing behind him, looking at the carpet. Her small frame was made even smaller by hunching from, what Sansa assumed was fear.

\- Yes, we can talk. – Sansa said with hesitation.

\- Mary, would you be so kind to leave my sister and me talk in private? – Jon turned asking Mrs. McWagen. She gave a small nod and left the living room as quickly as she could. Jon was leaning on the end table, scrunched up where his wound was. His face showed no signs of pain; he was equally still as he was when Sansa last saw him. She wondered will he speak about what he said last night.

\- You should rest... – Sansa said, taking a step in his direction. He looked at her, from her pale face all the way to her feet without changing his expression.

\- It's my wound. – He said quietly. – If I die now, so be it. - The amount of crudeness in his voice made Sansa shiver. His face was almost pale blue and scars on his face appeared gray. Everything in his home was a shade of cool. All the furniture seemed like it was covered in a layer of ashy fog and when he spoke, it was like he was able to absorb all the warmth left in the room. Jon sat on the couch, slowly, carefully. – _He must be in great pain._ – Sansa thought looking at him struggle to sit down. His wound was on the left side of his abdomen but from what Sansa remembered Luwin saying, it wasn't quite deep. She walked closer, searching for the sign of his approval to sit next to him.

\- I'm sorry that you had to find me like this. – He finally said. Words rolling off his tongue were heavy. He was out of breath and held his arm over his belly. – I don't know if you're happy or sad to see wounded.

\- I'm glad you're alive. – Sansa said, offering him a smile with great uncertainty. She allowed herself to sit, but she was as far on the sofa as her body would let her.

\- Are you? – Jon asked not looking at her. Sansa was lost for words. He knows she didn't like him when they were children and after that summer day, this was the first time they spoke. It was always through others that she knew about Jon's existence. She found out about him for the first time from her mother when she tried to explain them they had another brother. The uneasiness of her mother's words defined everything she ever thought about him. Her father never liked to talk about the issue and as far as Sansa could remember, it was the only thing her parents ever argued about.

\- Yes. Why I wouldn't be? – She felt like she was lying. A fourteen year old in her certainly was. But twenty-three year old Sansa tried to avoid the fact that Jon might be right.

\- I see. – He said. – I assume you hate me less, now that I'm a dying man. – Sansa couldn't discern if he was joking.

\- We were children, Jon… - she said, surprising herself that she had courage to admit she hated him once. – I was…unaware…

\- Why are you here, Sansa? – Jon interrupted her, turned his head and pierced her chest with his black gaze. Why was she here? Her heart was racing and there her head was buzzing with thoughts but she was too proud to fall apart in front of him.

\- I wanted to see you. – She finally muttered. Jon chuckled and Sansa felt he was mocking her. For a moment, the silence grew between them.

\- King's Landing parties are not fun enough? – He smirked. Sansa's fists were clenching in anger but she said nothing. His head was turned sideways as he waited again for her response. She swallowed his words, trying to stay calm.

\- Listen, Jon. – She tried to reason with him. – I understand you are mad. But it was so long ago that it doesn't matter anymore.

\- Doesn't matter? – Jon raised his voice. It was too intense for his muscles to bear and he coughed, cramping in pain. – It doesn't matter to you. – He added. – You're a spitting image of your mother, you know? – He grinned. – You look like her, act like her and you talk to me like she did. - A flaming ball of anger was forming in her chest. Her mother was dead and he still dared to talk like that about her.

\- You know nothing about her. – She whispered.

\- Ay, I know nothing about her. – He said. – Just like I know nothing about you. – He turned, looking at the fireplace. – The woman wanted me dead. – His fingers passed through his thick beard as he was frowning. Sansa was silent.

\- Did you knew that? – Jon pushed that thought even further. – Of course you didn't. – He shook his head. – The Stark were a sinless, perfect family and me even existing ruined that image. - Saying that, his face became clouded in sadness. Sansa felt the emotion seeping from his words, she was never aware that they hurt him so much. Even though he spoke ill of her dead family, the weight of his suffering washed over her and she couldn't help but to feel it too. Just when she wanted to apologize, Jon started speaking again.

\- But the thought that I would tolerate you in my home, after all that has happened and after all these years of resentment… It offends me. – He spat his words like poison. Sansa crushed underneath the truth he spoke. She hoped he forgot. But how could he? He was alone his whole life, a bastard son no one wanted.

\- You should leave. – He whispered, not looking at her. Sansa stood up, her face tight with anger. She walked and stopped right in front of him. He had no choice, but to look at her.

\- If it wasn't for me, you would be a corpse now. – She said, her lower lip shaking. Before he could say anything, she walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

\- Yes… a corpse. – He whispered letting his head lean on his chest.

Mary walked into Sansa's room without knocking. The look on her face was one of genuine worry. Sansa was just finishing packing her suitcase and she tried to ignore the old lady standing next to her.

\- He can be difficult. – Mrs. McWagen said. – But he is a good man. He wouldn't hurt you or anyone on purpose.

\- Then you don't know him very well. – Sansa noted. The old lady sighed and sat on her bed. Her fingers were webbed like she was in prayer. Sansa was still cramming her clothes into her suitcase and only thing she could think of is that she needs to leave. Jon doesn't want her here, he never did, he never will. Maybe losing all she ever had was a punishment for the life she lived. All dues must be paid, and Sansa felt indebted to everyone.

\- He needs someone here. – Mary continued.

\- Oh, I think he has plenty. – Sansa hasn't felt this angry in a long time. She hasn't felt anything in the longest time and surprisingly, anger was the first emotion that had struck her. – He has plenty of arrogance. So much so that he can fill this entire house and never again be alone.

\- What did you expect? – Mrs. McWagen asked her. – That you can walk into his life suddenly and uninvited and that he will meet you with his open arms? – Her words stung Sansa almost as much as Jon's did. – When you never gave him that privilege. – Mary's voice was soft, but determined. – I told him that you were here but I advised him not to rush into anything.

\- Yet you helped him dress. – Sansa said. Mary looked to the side like she was ashamed. - I know what I did. – Sansa sighed. She stopped packing. – But I'm trying to do better.

\- I know. – Mary looked at her with understanding. – You have so much to offer, Sansa. – Mary grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. Sansa's windpipe tightened in despair. She was right. But what could she ever offer to Jon? She was just as broken as he was, just as alone as he, penniless and bitter. Her eyes burned with salty water gathering in the corners. One shy tear rolled down her cheek. Jon made her cry where the whole world couldn't.

\- Oh, sweet girl… – Mary said opening her arms and hugging Sansa. – He knows you saved him. – The old woman stared to cry. Hearing her, Sansa crumbled and started to sob on her shoulder. All those tears she ate every morning trying to be strong came bursting down her cheeks.

\- He will never forgive me… - Her throat tightened filling with the overwhelming feeling of loss. – I know he won't. – Her chest quivered as she gasped for air. Mrs. McWagen slowly stroked her red hair. – He is all that I have left and he doesn't want me… - Darkness took over her, her vision was blurry from the tears.

\- It is a horrible prison your thoughts keep you in. – Mary held Sansa by her shoulders, her warm gaze was passing over a red mess Sansa's face was now. – I saw it so many times in him. – Her coarse hand touched her cheek. – He forgave you a long time ago, Sansa. Now, if you could only forgive yourself…

Sansa closed her eyes. A feeling of weariness rushed over her body and she thought she could fall asleep in Mrs. McWagen warm embrace. – Rest, sweet girl. I'll talk with him. – That were the last words before a deep slumber took over her.

When Mary went downstairs, she found Jon in the same place where Sansa left him, sitting with an empty gaze in his eyes. Only now, he held a glass of whiskey in his hands. She approached him slowly, as one would to a wild animal. He didn't acknowledge her presence with a look but he did sigh as she walked closer.

\- I know what you're going to say. Don't bother. – He buried his head in his hand, slowly dragging it across his tired face. But Mary was persistent and she, just like Sansa stood right in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

\- Do you hate her so much? – Her question sounded more like a plea. Jon took a sip of his drink, visibly uncomfortable by Mrs. McWagen eagerness for his answer.

\- I don't hate her. – He simply stated. – I just don't care for her.

\- She is your sister and your guest. You are ought to treat her well. – A steadiness of her voice made Jon start to play nervously with his fingers. His palms stated to sweat as Mary became more aggressive.

\- No. – Jon looked at her. – She is your guest. You let her in. – Jon stood up, holding his bandages with his wide hand. – I don't want anything to do with her or her life. – He started walking away slowly when Mary's voice stopped him.

\- Jon, stop this madness right now! – She raised her voice. Jon turned and his face was furious. – She is the last family you have. And if you think you can walk away so easily from it, you're wrong. - Jon's face became distorted from wrench her words caused. He had no family and he didn't intend on Sansa becoming one. Little did he know that Sansa stood behind the closed door, listening. The voices woke her up and she couldn't help herself but go downstairs and listen.

\- I love you like you are my mother… - Jon started. – But you know, more than anyone else what Starks were. – His voice was breaking and every word stabbed Sansa like a cold knife. – So rightful, they thought they had a power to mold and shape other lives. She is no different! – Jon yelled. – She thinks she can appear out of thin air and demand acceptance from me! – He struggled with breathing and he felt all of the blood leaving his head, making him dizzy. – Mary, please… - he managed to whisper before falling on the floor.

\- Jon! - Mary screamed. – Sansa! – She shouted kneeling next to lifeless Jon. To her surprise, she walked in right away, startled by the sight that was before her. Mary didn't ask her anything. The women struggled trying to lift Jon and lay him on the couch. In matter of minutes, Mary called doctor Lewin. He was there soon, inspecting the unconscious Jon that didn't react to any stimulus, no matter how hard they tried. He was so different than the last time he was here. His movement was frantic and Sansa feared he couldn't save him.

\- He lost a lot of blood. You shouldn't have let him out of bed. – Luwin sounded angry. Sansa looked at Mary that trembled in suspense but said nothing. – He has to go to the hospital and get an urgent transfusion. I can't help him.

\- No. – Mary said shortly. – He stays here. – Looking at her, Sansa could see the woman that slammed the door in her face, cold, shrewd and distant.

\- Why the fuck not? – Sansa was maddened with her. – What does he want to hide so badly that you would rather let him die than get proper help? – Her words swooped over Mrs. McWagen. For someone who was just exiled from Jon's life, she cared for him with such ferociousness.

\- Listen to me. – Mrs. McWagen grabbed her arm. – You know nothing about Jon. – She hissed and her eyes darkened. – If someone found out he was shot, more than just he would be dead.

After anger came fear. Sansa was afraid. What did Jon do, what was so much more important than his own life? His willingness to die made Sansa shrink in her own skin. What was so crucial to her estranged brother? If it was worth his life, Sansa had to care for it too.

\- He needs transfusion or he dies. – Luwin repeated.

\- Here. – said Sansa rolling up her sleeve and revealing her thin, almost translucent skin. – Try me. He is my blood after all...

Chapter 4

It's an odd feeling, your own blood leaving your body. It reminded Sansa of her time in the hospital when they took her blood countless times. – _For the tests._ – They said. They tested her for everything, Hepatitis B, Hepatitis C, syphilis and lastly HIV. She was afraid may times before that, but nothing could compare to the waiting game she experienced when they told her she needs to be tested for AIDS. Sansa promised herself, if the results were positive, she would kill herself without one ounce of regret. – _You are a whore._ – The words rang in her head constantly.

Her milky skin became bruised from needles, swollen in places where cannulas were, red and painful to the touch. There was nothing but death around her. One night, a man died in the room next to her. It was quite a shock because people rarely died in the psychiatric units. He stole a fork and a knife when they were having dinner, held them in his sock and when the night came he stabbed himself repeatedly all over his body. Oddly enough he didn't scream while stabbing. Only when he realized the death came for its sweet reward, he became afraid and screamed as loudly as he could. Sansa heard the man, but it didn't concern her. Many screamed in there. He bled out on the floor and was found dead when the nurses came. Not only that he stabbed himself countless times, he dragged across the knife that was buried deep in his flesh. His bowels spilled and there was no way they could have saved him. If she reacted, would she have save him? The unit she was stationed was for mild mental disorders, there was no reason for the doctors to be overly cautious of their patients. Most of them wanted someone to listen to them. But the man died nonetheless. _When will the death come for her?_ \- she wondered. Sansa never wanted to hurt herself directly. She just felt that the world would be a better place without her in it. Her dying made all the sense, there was nothing left for her. She didn't care for her own life. How could she care for anything else?

\- Doctor Luwin, can I ask you something? – She said when he finished with drawing her blood. He knelt next to the futon. A plastic bag filled with thick red fluid was in his hands.

\- If it's in my power, I will do it. – He answered as he knew Sansa would ask for something. Sansa hesitated to say anything else after his response, but she had to finish what she started. – If you could… - she whispered. – Give me something to sleep better. – Luwin placed the blood in his brown bag. He fumbled through it for couple of seconds, being completely silent.

\- I have trouble sleeping. – Sansa added.

Luwin sighed, his eyes still on his leather satchel. – I could give you something. – He finally said. – But I think any of Mary's teas could do the same as my pills. – He stood up, fixing his shirt. – I would give you something if it's truly necessary.

\- It is. – Sansa said quietly, her teeth pressed from tension. – I want nothing from that woman. - Luwin stroked his beard, thinking. Sansa lied on the futon, stubbornly watching him. – I will pay you if I have to.

\- Alright. – Luwin said. – I have something here. – He pulled a half empty silver packet of pills. – No more than one a day. – He warned Sansa.

She knew the name written on the packet. She used them before, but not for an easy sleep. A cold shiver passed through her body looking at the black letters. Did he have to give her these ones? Any sleep medication would help, but he gave her these. It's wonderuous how brave one gets when one is sure of being loved. And people, who are loved, were light as air no matter the circumstances. Sansa wasn't one of them but made sure she felt the same.

\- Will he be okay? – She asked looking at the unconscious Jon on the sofa.

\- He should. – Luwin smiled for the first time that day. – Luckily, you are a universal donor. There is no reason for him not to be. You should rest. – He advised. – Drink plenty of fluid. I'll tell Mary to bring you some water with sugar.

Sansa turned to her side while Luwin prepared the blood to be given to Jon. She couldn't look at them. Holding the pills closely, she closed her eyes, letting her head become empty. Many minutes passed, she heard Luwin leave and enter the room couple of times. He talked to Mary but Sansa couldn't distinguish the content of their conversation. She didn't care. In a different world, she might would. He was her brother and he was struggling for his life. But that wasn't the world they lived in. She had to fight for him because if she loses this battle, there would be nothing for her. Sansa smiled while looking at the edge where two parts of the futon met. She was truly delusional thinking that Jon would react any differently than the way he did. He could have been even more spiteful. Sansa owed that to his wound, he was simply too weak to be any harsher. In that moment, she was thankful for his pain. It was a pinnacle of selfishness, but it was the truth.

Luwin left shortly after he gave his instructions to Mrs. McWagen. Mary gave Sansa a cup of water with a bit of sugar dissolved in it. She drank half of it, leaving the rest on the end table next to her. When Mary left the room, she grabbed her pills with intention of drinking them. – _Only one, Sansa._ – She heard Luwin's words in her ear. Would she sleep forever if she drank them all? Would the blissful silence finally fill her mind if she decided to take that leap? A tempting thought that both dazzled and dizzied her. She looked at the pills and then at Jon. He was sleeping; his left arm was hanging from the couch, lightly touching the surface of the carpet. A single thought passed through her head, like a ray of light - if he wakes, she wanted to wake up with him. She took one, tasting the familiar bitter and powdery taste. Her head sunk in the soft pillow as she waited for the sweet pill to take its effect. A soft web covered her eyes and she fell asleep, calm and idle.

 _\- They come here often?_ – A man asked her. She was in her room, siting at the white vanity. Her face was lit with the soft golden lights of the bulbs that surrounded her mirror. She loved her reflection. Her long thick hair cascaded down her shoulders in rich, fiery waves and her cheeks were glowing from the hot blood that rushed to her head every time she performed. A standing ovation, the crowd loved her. She dragged her long red nails across her breasts. A corset cinched them tightly and they lifted every time she took another breath.

\- No more than you coming to hear me sing _._ – She looked at his reflection in her mirror. He grinned looking at the lace detailing on her back.

\- I don't come here to hear you sing. – The man said, his voice was low and swollen with tension. - Then it must be expensive watching session. – Sansa chuckled.

A man stood calmly, his lips were parted and his breathing heavy. She enjoyed these moments immensely. They all shivered in front of her and heir cockiness disappeared the moment they saw her up close. Her words were swift like a sword, she never held back when they reached out to her. She wanted them to admit, to say exactly what they wanted before she allowed them to come closer. They all wanted the same thing, to take her to an expensive dinner and gift her with jewels. They bought her time and Sansa always made sure she charged them well. Most of them didn't dare to touch her because sometimes when we touch our idols, its golden gilt stays on out hands.

\- Then what do you want? – Sansa asked, looking directly at his reflection.

\- You. – He answered without a trace of fear in his voice. He was like so many others, young, handsome and well dressed. He wore a black suit that was, without a doubt, custom made. His broad shoulders strained the fabric. – You can't have me. – She teased playing with her lipstick.

\- Then what is your price? – He persisted. Sansa bit her lip, standing still for a moment. – I'm not for sale. – She finally said.

A man chuckled hearing that. – Stop lying. – His words weren't delicate or refined. He was a man that wasted no time. – So men enjoy your time for free? – Sansa looked at his face in the mirror, her eyes cold with anger. – Better for me. – He raised his eyebrows taking a step closer. Sansa stood up, her pretty face was grim. She still refused to look directly at him.

\- I will have to ask you to leave. – She demanded.

\- There is no point in me leaving. – He muttered. – I will always be with you. She was surprised by his arrogance but she didn't let herself show it. She turned, wanting to see that man who thought he had the right to claim her without her breaking him first.

It was Jon.

A warm breath left her lungs recognizing him. His black eyes enveloped her in a tight embrace. He caressed her with his gaze, a warm, gentle touch that collected in her stomach and traveled down, to her very core. Suddenly, his perfume filled her nostrils. A fresh smell of citrus and pepper tickled her nose; it was vibrant, vigorous and smelled of a man at the peak of its strength. After it came jasmine and sandalwood, deepening the sensation, reminding Sansa of how close he stood now. At the end, the air smelled dark, filled with the smell of incense and musk.

\- I know you… - She whispered, not being able to move.

\- Yes. – He closed the distance even further. His palm touched her soft upper arm and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as he slowly moved his fingers down. – You know me.

It was like his touch was a form of an anesthetic; she felt the tension leave her as he touched the tips of her fingers with his. She closed her eyes, breathing him in fully. He was so dauntless in his approach that he touched the pale skin of her cheek. To his surprise, she leaned in. The room was spinning and Sansa felt like she had floated away in a black cloud. She found no way of fighting his presence. Her body was drenched in his poison and she quickly became addicted to the feeling lightness that carried her.

\- You are the most beautiful creature ever to walk this world. – He pressed his body against hers. She felt his firm chest rising with hers. Her eyes were still closed and she parted her full lips involuntarily. Jon's coarse beard scratched her skin as his warm breath passed next to her ear, making her skin crawl. She heard a voice in the distance - _Loving her was like shaking hands with the devil._ Jon was a mad man for touching her. His right hand rested on her waist, but he didn't dare to move it. Sansa opened her eyes and was met with a blazing flame in his eyes that burned her red dress off.

\- Kiss me. – She told him and it sounded like an order. He moved his right hand slowly upwards, barely brushing her breast and stopping only when he reached her face. He looked at her calmly, deciding to wait, to cherish this moment of absolute fullness between them. The air became thick like syrup and Sansa was lost in his eyes. He moved slowly, torturing her. Her lips tingled in anticipation. They were softer than velvet when he finally planted a gentlest kiss she could ever imagine. Jon tasted of home and Sansa wished for him never to move again. His fingers found a way to her hair, pulling it gently.

 _One. Two. Make it fun._

Their lips touched in a desperate motion, teeth clashing. He pulled her closer, leaving no room between them and his hands explored her back, pulling on the thin lace as he digged his nails into the pink skin. Jon became rougher in the way he touched her, it was like he starved for weeks and she was the only thing he wanted to eat. His tongue found its way into her mouth. It was wet, warm and thick and tasted of summer wine. She felt drunk just by tasting it.

He found its way to the silk skirt that was attached to the lace corset and he scrunched it up in his hand. He stopped, opening his eyes. A small bite tore Sansa's lip and she followed it by a loud moan. She liked it rough. He ripped her dress, his nails leaving a mark on her pale thigh and she knew she would carry that mark for a while. He threw the fabric on the floor, licking her top lip while his hands moved to her chest. He cupped both of her breasts, squeezing them hard and pushing her gently to the edge of her vanity. She leaned on the hard wood, almost sitting on it. After leaving her breasts, his hands traveled to the exposed flesh of her bottom, fingers digging in deep. She wrapped her long legs around his waist. He pressed onto her harder, rubbing his hard cock against her thin lingerie. Even through the two layers of fabric, he was throbbing.

\- You… - he whispered biting her neck. Her skin burned in the places he touched. Sansa webbed her fingers in his curly hair, pushing his head, making him bite her to the point of pain. – You are mine. - Sansa gasped hearing him. She was the one who belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone. Jon looked at her, her cheeks were vermilion red and small drops of sweat rolled down her forehead.

\- Say you're mine. – His voice was husky and low and as he spoke, Sansa became wetter.

\- I, I… - She struggled for words. He grasped her hair strongly, pulling her head back. She loved every minute of it. – I'll fuck you now. – He told her licking his lips. – I'll fuck you like I always wanted. Hard, fast. You'll plead for me to stop, but you will enjoy it more than anything you ever enjoyed in your life. - He licked the sweat from her chest. – More than you ever enjoyed any man. – Jon pulled her left bosom out of her corset, taking her hard nipple in his mouth. He bit her, sending lighting to her uterus.

\- Yes, fuck me… - She pleaded. – Fuck me, Jon.

As soon as she said that, he unbuttoned his pants releasing himself. Sansa couldn't help but look – he was straight, pink and thick. Jon's hand cupped her sex, pressing harshly. In one move, he ripped her lingerie leaving thin layers of fabric on each side of her labia. He spat in his palm and stroked his cock. Contrary to what she hoped, he gave her no chance to prepare herself. In one deep plunge, the red skin of his cock disappeared in her body. She was soft, warm and dripping wet. Sansa felt full, her walls stretched and grasping Jon's cock in tight embrace. He started moving faster and every time he plunged himself into her he sent shivers down her spine. Jon filled her all the way and she felt his tip hitting the end of her. It was sweet pain she felt as she moaned in his shoulder. He held her pressing his fingers onto the milky skin of her hips.

– Oh, Jon, oh, Jon, yes… - Hearing her say his name did something for his eyes. They became even darker, maddened with desire. He wanted to devour her, crush her. Their tongues touched and were playing with one another without their lips touching. It was nothing like she ever felt. With each move, Jon claimed her over and over again. She felt powerless in his arms.

\- What are you doing to me? – He asked her grabbing her long neck in a firm grasp. For a moment Sansa stopped breathing. He slowed down, pushing deep inside her, meeting his hips with hers. – Are you a witch? A demon? – His fingers started clenching harder.

\- No… - Sansa whispered.

\- I don't care. – He released her. – I would become your loyal servant if I had to. – He suddenly pulled his cock out, leaving Sansa with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness. He knelt, his dark hair disappearing between her legs.

\- I would worship you… - He spoke slowly, moving his tongue up and down, from her entrance to her swollen bud. – Like a goddess. – She pulled his hair and she didn't care if it caused him any pain. It almost made him more eager to lick her folds. He was playing with her, sucking on her clit with no hurry. Sansa ached to feel him inside again. She looked down and her eyes met his. He started to speed up and Sansa felt closer to that sweet release.

\- Don't you dare come without me in you. – He groaned. This time he was gentle, stopping and entering her slowly, letting her catch a break. – Will you come for me, sweet sister?

His question made feeling of shame collect in her chest. She was fucking her brother. But to her surprise, the feeling of carnal shame made her desire Jon even more.

\- I will. – She looked directly in his eyes, her face motionless. – I will, brother. - Feeling her tense up, he groaned - Oh, fuck, Sansa... - her walls gripped him as she was coming on his cock and he couldn't take it anymore. Sansa felt his warm seed fill her up, spraying somewhere deep inside her.

\- You are mine. – Said Jon taking a strand of sweaty hair of her face. He was still buried in her when he grabbed her face and kissed her deeply.

\- Oh, Jon… - Sansa whispered waking up. Realizing what just took place, her right hand flew straight to her crotch. Even her jeans were wet. She looked to her right, at sleeping Jon. He was still in the same position. - No, no... – It was all she allowed herself to say before tears started rolling down her face.

Room around here became smaller and the walls started closing in. Her body felt as light as feather, a tingling sensation took over her limbs. She was lying on a futon but drowning in her thoughts. What if she was really a twisted making of nature, a vile freak that valued nothing? She just dreamt of fucking her brother and every part of her being enjoyed that. She had to leave. There was no other choice, no choice at all. This is the point from where there is no return. Is she truly that damaged she couldn't make a distinction between right and wrong? And if she tried to convince herself that this is wrong, would she be lying?

That single thought was the thing that pushed her over the edge. Sansa ran to her room. The walls were crashing down as she tried to breathe. There was no air, only a vacuous hole that spun her around endlessly. Her leaving Jon's home was the only thing that mattered. Sansa grabbed her suitcase, not even checking if she packed everything. She had a bit of money left and most importantly, she still had the sleeping pills. Sansa stopped, looking at them in the one of the pockets of her purse wondering will death hurt when it finally comes. Oh, how she hoped that it didn't, but not for herself, but for her dead family. She would tell herself that in those nights where a chance of a good night sleep was as far away as her sense of self that it didn't, that they died swiftly, painlessly. If she were to be honest, she was tired of thinking about them. There was no way, no Gods, old and new that could bring her family and her old life back. Too much has happened. She is too far gone. If it truly becomes unbearable, she will drink them, hoping that it will be enough for her to leave.

\- _You are a coward._ – She heard his voice. So what if she was? If she wasn't so afraid, would she be already dead? Maybe, when she believed someone still cared for her, she wouldn't even think of it. Sansa always felt the suffering of others deeply and the thought of her hurting someone by giving up made her push through. It was a form of justification, an excuse for her not to take control and end the suffering that consumed her. But she was alone now.

She walked down the stairs quietly, trying to disappear as quickly as she came. Still, she hoped someone, anyone would stop her, reach out to her and tell her that it will all be alright. That the world has a way of sorting things out and that all of it would be erased and crumbled to dust.

No one was there. She stopped by the living room door. They were still open. She peaked through, searching for the sings of Mrs. McWagen. There was only Jon, peacefully sleeping on the sofa. She clenched her coat as she walked towards him, her knuckles white. She felt like crying, but her eyes couldn't make that wish true. In a strange way, she felt happy that she saw him, one last time. His face wasn't pale anymore, a pink flush laced over his cheeks, disappearing underneath his black beard. Her blood made that happen and her trembling heart had burst in pieces looking at him. Handsome, not overly tall and dressed all in black, he was nothing like the men Sansa knew in King's Landing. Jon was wild, rugged and unrefined, from his messy hair all the way to the faded jeans.

\- Jon. –She called for him quietly. – Jon, I'm leaving. – It didn't matter to her that he couldn't hear her. She wanted to have a proper goodbye, the one she never had with the rest of her family.

\- I do hope you live, I really do. – Sansa whispered, her throat tightening. – I just wanted to say… - The words barely rolled of her tongue. – I'm sorry. For everything. For your family. For mine. For what we did. – Her hand reached to him like she was trying to touch him, but never closing the distance all the way through.

\- I guess I thought, maybe… You and I could be a family. But it was stupid of me to even think that we ever could. – Her eyes started burning, a small tear found its way down. As the tear touched her chin, she took a deep breath, stretching the iron cage around her ribs. – I'm so sorry Jon. – The second one followed. – If I could take it all back, I would. I'm not the person you think I am. And even if I am, I don't want to be that anymore.

It was like someone casted a strong light on something that was always half a shadow and Sansa broke down kneeling next to Jon. – I'm sorry. – She repeated touching his chest. It was warm in the place where his wound was. – If I could, I would fix it. – Sansa leaned gently on his left arm. – If you would let me, I could be your family. I need you, Jon… - Her warm tears dampened the sleeve of his shirt as Sansa caressed his wound. – I would gladly carry your pain. – She whispered. – If you would only let me show you that I still can.

She stood still for a while, listening him breathe. The sound of air entering and leaving his lungs calmed and lifted her from the fog in her mind. Her lips brushed the fabric slightly, tasting the salty tears. If she could just stop the time and never leave him, she could die in peace.

A soft touch brushed through her hair slowly. Jon's heavy hand rested on her head and she looked up. He was watching her, his eyes hugged her face in a warm embrace. – You saved me. – He whispered. – You saved me when I told you to leave me. – He gave her a slight smile. – I'm the one who's sorry. - Sansa looked at him, but said nothing. She never thought he would be the one who would be apologizing.

\- You are my guest Sansa. – He continued. – And my sister. You deserve more than I gave you. – He tried to stand up, but was too weak.

\- No, rest Jon. Don't strain yourself. – She took his hand in hers. – I'll go get you some tea or something to eat. – A lightness took over her voice. He was giving her another chance.

\- No. – He closed his eyes, resting his head on a pillow. – Stay. You should stay. – Saying that, he squeezed her tender hand in his. And Sansa stayed there for what seemed like hours, watching him sleep. Sometimes, even a smidgen of bravery changes everything. Sansa was braver than she thought she could ever be in that moment. And apologizing to her brother was a salve for her tortured soul.

When he woke up, he found her sitting on a futon, looking carefully over him. Mary walked in to check on him couple of times, but said nothing when she noticed Sansa's coat and the suitcase. A smile lingered on her face nonetheless, seeing her still there. Sansa blushed noticing the old woman smirking gladly because of the sight in front of her, but she as well, was silent. She was afraid, if she speaks, it will all crumble. She couldn't risk it. They helped Jon up the stairs, and he, being as stubborn as he is, refused to admit he was still too weak to walk on its own. It was late afternoon when she found herself with Mary in the kitchen, helping her with an early dinner.

\- Your brother is as stubborn as a mule. – Mary said after they had put him to bed. – I hope he wasn't such a pain when his mother gave birth to him. - Hearing Mary say that, Sansa sighed. The old woman noted the sadness that was on her face so she said – I'm glad you're still here.

Mary was a cheerful woman and Sansa had to admit to herself that she had been wrong about her. She cared for Jon deeply, so much so that she didn't care if she would hurt someone defending him. Her gray hair was in a tight bun and Sansa couldn't figure out how old she was. There was still some vigor left in the way she moved and no matter what she did it never seemed to be too difficult for her. Sansa didn't quite know what to ask Mrs. McWagen or how to talk to her, so she just listened to whatever stories she would tell her even though they were never about Jon or his family. She told Sansa how to differentiate good onions from the bad ones and how to tell if the rice is perfectly cooked. Even though Sansa was eager to find out what her connection to Jon was, she decided it is best if she told her. It was like Mary knew what was on her mind and she started to open up.

\- I knew your brother since he was a little boy. – Mary said, tending to the pot of soup on the stove. – What a happy little fellow he was. – She chuckled. – He might never admit this, so it's best for you to hear it from me. – said Mary grinning. – He was one of the sensitive ones, you know, growing up. He surprised us all when he said he wanted to join the military. – Mary took the soup of the stove. – We all thought he ought to be a poet. Can you imagine it? Jon, a poet? – She asked Sansa.

\- No, I can't. – Sansa answered. It was hard for her to imagine Jon being anything.

\- He could never hate or hurt anyone. – Said Mary sitting next to Sansa. – I'm so glad you are here, dear Sansa. I'm old and Jon needs someone of his own to have when I'm gone.

Sansa never thought she might stay forever in the North. Her coming back was a poor plan, both in theory and in execution. – I don't think I'll stay here for long. – Sansa said quietly.

\- I understand you have a life in the South that you might go back to. – Mary stood up, pouring two cups of tea. – But at least for now, you'll stay here. – She gave one to Sansa. It was verbena. – They say tomorrow should be one of the coldest days in living memory. A blizzard is upon us.

\- I don't think I have much to go back to… - Said Sansa looking at the green liquid.

\- Jon told me you are a singer, a popular one. That must be a wonderful life to live. – Mrs. McWagen's eyes searched for an answer on Sansa's face to a question she didn't ask and instead of continuing down that path Sansa just said – Jon talked about me?

\- Oh, no. – Mary smiled. Her teeth were damaged and yellow. – But he loved to listen to you. – Sansa was surprised by a sudden wave of honesty from Mrs. McWagen. It seemed like only certain parts of Jon's life were forbidden to talk about.

\- Grenn told me he didn't spoke about me. – Sansa looked at her old, wrinkled face. Mary took a sip of her tea and then continued. – I think he was ashamed to admit he liked all that girly music. – They both laughed. A thought of Jon listening to her sing intrigued her. She felt it was almost like she had always been there with him.

\- The dinner is ready. – Mary walked to the counter and poured the soup in a bowl. When she served it on a plate with a piece of bread she handed it to Sansa saying that she should be the one to take it to Jon.

\- He shuts down easily. – Said Mary. – You should take this opportunity and talk to him. - Sansa nodded knowing she was right. She took the plate and walked to Jon's room. He was in his bed, shirtless, leaning on the headboard. Sansa walked in slowly, trying not to spill the soup. He was silent but Sansa took it as a good sign.

\- I…I brought you dinner. – She smiled.

\- Good. – He muttered. She walked towards him, gently placing the plate on his end table. – It's barely, onions and chicken. Mary said it's your favorite. – Sansa was standing next to him, hoping he would let her stay for a bit.

\- She knows me well. – Sansa looked at him while he took the bowl with his shaky hand and tried to scoop out some. A hot liquid poured down his naked chest making him clench in pain.

\- Let me. – Sansa took the hot bowl out of his hands. – I can feed myself. – Jon protested.

\- Do you want to burn yourself? – Sansa smiled at him, raising her eyebrows. – You know, I can only save you a limited amount of times. – Saying that, she instantly regretted it. Hoping that wouldn't make Jon mad, she nervously smiled, waiting for him to respond. To her surprise, Jon smiled back.

\- So it's two for zero? – He knew she was the one who convinced Mary and Grenn to call Luwin. A tickling feeling of closeness crawled under her skin.

Sansa shook her head, her cheeks hurting from smiling at him. It made her happy, talking to him after all these years. She thought that Jon must be one of those people who are incapable of lying. When he smiled, it was wholeheartedly honest and pure.

\- Here. – She said, offering him a spoon full of soup. He tasted the soup, his eyes not leaving hers. Small embers danced in the dark corners of his black gaze. She was almost convinced he forgave her.

Days passed in peace. Jon was recovering well, his wound healed quickly and he was not the one to admit his current weakness. He insisted on eating with them in the kitchen and he refused any help Sansa and Mary offered. In those moments, Sansa was reserved. She cherished the fragile relationship she and Jon shared and she didn't dare to do much with it. When he spoke, she answered and not more. Yet, she yearned for his closeness more than anything. He was like a ray of light that carried her to unimaginable levels of lightness she never thought she could experience. His laugh was like a thousand silvers bells and his eyes lighted up when he showed the row of pearly white teeth. She tended to stay in his presence as long as she could, as long as she thought it was acceptable. She followed him up to his room and she helped him get undressed. She snuggled him into bed like the son she never had and she made sure he was always content. They communicated in small nods and smiles, never allowing themselves to speak about anything real. Sansa somehow knew Jon silently agreed to this, he never asked anything deeper or sensitive and she obliged to her part of this agreement. They didn't spoke about that day when he held her head and her tears while he comforted her, forgiving her for everything known and unknown. Jon sensed Sansa was deeply troubled woman and more than anything, he wanted to protect her, to preserve the goodness he felt in her that day when she felt apart in his arms. Jon held her while she melted away in her sorrow, like a little girl that was so unaware of the ways the world could hurt her. He could still feel the way she shivered under his fingers, crying. She was smaller than a single speck of dust, so humble and open. She exerted warmth he couldn't get enough of. It seemed she didn't complain about a thing after they reconsolidated. Sansa smiled when he smiled at her and she talked only when he asked her. It almost seemed like she was a happy, empty shell.

\- Sansa, can I ask you something? – Jon spoke while she ruffled his pillow, preparing the bed for him.

\- Sure. – She answered, playing with the sheets of his bed. Jon looked at her, trying to breach the invisible wall she held up trying to uphold the sense of normalness between them. It was a thin, glass wall and he could see her clearly though it, but he could never touch her. Jon wanted to ask so many questions. Thinking about her, he remembered how he liked to listen to her music. It was always the same emotion she tried to convey – a girl that with a mind free as a bird, but cruelly chained to one place. She smiled while she sang, but her words were somber and heavy, she cried through her music.

\- Why did you come back? – He spoke slowly, trying not to scare her. Sansa stopped with whatever she was doing with his pillowcase and looked up. Her back was turned on him and he couldn't see her face.

\- I wanted to see you. – She looked over her shoulder, at Jon standing next to his bed.

\- Oh, I know, you told me that. – Jon turned his head, touching the wooden board of his bed. – What I meant to ask is – why now? – After he gained some of his strength back, he spoke with his lungs full. He had a Northern accent, not as heavy as Grenn's, but he still couldn't hide it. She loved to listen the soft vibrations his words were. There was something twisted in the way she perceived them, every tone his voice had crawled under her skin, making her core tense up. No matter how hard she tried, only thing she could hear listening to him was those soft words he spoke in her dream.

\- There has to be a reason to visit a family member? – Sansa asked Jon instead of answering.

\- Hhh… - Jon chuckled. – We were never a family. You understand my confusion. – His head was turned sideways and he looked at her back covered in a thick layer of wool. Jon's gaze burned Sansa's back. A familiar but a strange feeling rushed through her body. They were positioned exactly like in her dream. She was sitting on his bed, her back turned and he stood behind her, asking her questions she didn't knew answers to.

\- I know. – Sansa said quietly. – You were the last family I had. I had to start somewhere. – The silence grew between them. She felt the mattress underneath her bend as Jon sat next to her.

\- It's a good start. – He smiled.

\- It is? – She turned, her chest facing his. – You don't hate me? – She asked him naively, like a child would. Jon laughed at her asking that. Sometimes, she truly was like a little girl.

\- No, I don't hate you Sansa. – He could see the sings of relief passing over her face as she smiled at him. They smiled a lot at one another, sometimes not even being aware of it. They both felt obliged to, she because she didn't have another place to go and he because she saved his life. He reached out and touched her. It was a surprise for him, as much it was for Sansa. Feeling of his hand cupping her cheek felt all too familiar. In the days behind them, they didn't seem to be uncomfortable by touching one another. She helped him up the stairs, piercing his personal space with her white arms. It came naturally, for him to touch her in a gentle manner, the same she touched him when he was too weak to walk.

Jon noticed her blue eyes growing dimmer as he touched her. She didn't move, she didn't even say a thing, but yet, he felt like she was scared. He removed his hand from her soft cheek, feeling her fear. He didn't meant to hurt her in any way and they parted ways as he laid in his bed, ready to sleep.

Sansa dreamt of him that night, a small lion cub decaying in her arms. She woke up screaming. Everything around her was a thick fog that made her head dizzy. She knew Jon walked in, hearing her. She held her covers close to her chest, shivering. She couldn't see clearly, she was a half-blind, scared little bird that passed out in his arms.

\- Sansa… - He whispered holding her. – Sansa, what happened? – He shook her by her shoulders, but she gave no response. Wrapping her in her covers, he laid next to her, caressing her hair. Sansa smelled of lavender and peonies, a sharp, but sweet scent. She was so small when he held her and he couldn't help himself but to hold her. It was stronger than him, the wish to keep her safe, even from herself. He never hated her. She was too beautiful for him to force himself to resent her for anything. He tried to convince himself that she was everything that her mother was, cold and hateful woman, calculated and cunning. But Sansa was, underneath everything she was, was a softer than a snowflake and if he even dared to touched her, she would melt away. She was so unaware of this fact it was almost magical to watch her switch between a determined young woman and a confused little girl. Jon loved her the most when she was like a little child, uncorrupted and innocent. Only few people manage to grow up but still seem so oblivious to the world. Sansa was one of them. Everything she was seemed to disappear when she came into his home. He knew who she is, how famous she was and what kind of ornate life she must have lived far away from the North. But it was not this Sansa that sang for him so many times. Not this girl. No one this broken could ever be so flamboyant. This is the Sansa he wanted to know. Other versions of her seemed scary to him. The one he had on his poster when he was twenty years old, a tall girl in a black satin gown with icy eyes haunted his dreams and that was the version of her he hoped he would never encounter.

She pushed her body closer, resting her head on his chest. Jon wondered why he was still there. There was no reason for him to be there, she slept peacefully, leaning into his left arm. He felt this same moment boil in his blood years ago. She was never his sister; she was an object he desired growing up, talking with his friends consciously about who would fuck her harder if they had the chance. He never told them she was his sister. He was a Snow and she was a Stark, her father maybe made him, but he was never there and it almost made Jon happy to think about fucking a daughter of a man that left him behind like his worst mistake. A dark corner of his mind enjoyed this thought immensely. He hated the Starks, he hated Catelyn for all she wanted to do with an accidental spill of her husband's seed and he hated Ned because he had five children and he could never make enough room for just one more. Violating their daughter in a sickest way possible mad the blackest side of Jon excited. But he lacked bravery to touch her. She was there, abandoned in the far North, left to his mercy and yet, he still couldn't make himself hurt her. He hugged her wishing he had strength to crush her small frame in his arms, to take his vengeance.

It was sick, all of it. Twisted, vile and sickening.

But they were alone. There was no one anymore. They are the only one left. If he would decide to take her right now, when she sleeps, he could. When she would realize what is happening, he would already be buried deep inside her. Vengeance would be his and she wouldn't even have a chance to protest. He thought of raping her that night, that one nasty thought kept him from sleeping. Every time he gathered the courage to move even for an inch, he remembered that the people he wanted to hurt were dead and this gentle soul in his arms didn't deserve this from her brother.

 _Her brother._

He was crazy even thinking he could ever touch her more than he did now. He was all she has left and he trusted her words. He could never hurt her. Jon kissed her forehead and left her bed just as quietly as he walked in. Sansa's red hair was scattered in strands of fire that burned across her pillow.

 _\- I fucked you in the pyre. You pushed me into the flames and I died._ – Jon remembered his fever dream. She rode on top of him; his body was strangled with vines that trapped him on the edge of the cliff. As she pushed down, his body moved slowly to the edge, skin burning off. His hands grasped her bosom pinching her nipples with his claw like nails. And the fires enveloped them, swallowing them like a million stars on a night sky.

Chapter 5

Loud voiced woke Sansa up. Her room was dim and cold. Living in the South and its mellow winters made her sensitive to the harsh air in the North. She didn't felt like leaving the safety of the warm blankets, but hearing Jon's voice downstairs made her curious. What was it that he did that was so secretive? The thought consumed her even though she never dared to ask. It felt like something illegal to speak about and illegal seemed the thing he was doing. Sansa met her fair share of men that dealt in all sorts of shady practices and she knew one thing – the less she knew, the better off she was. But none of these men were her brother and she never shared a home with one. Sansa sighed pulling a thick black sweater over her head. She did live with a man that had built his empire on less than honorable doings. Petyr Baelish. Even thousands of miles away, he was still a presence in her life. She called his office couple of times after she couldn't reach him on his personal cell phone. His assistant Ros always met her with the same words – _Mr. Baelish is on a business trip in Pentos and he is not currently available. Can I take a message?_

She spoke like she didn't know who Sansa was. Ros was a whore, a real one and she never tried to hide this fact. Sansa was sure there was a part of Ros that enjoyed in sharing her body with strangers. In a world where so many don't have a choice but to sell their body, Ros never seemed to be troubled with her profession. It was one of the reasons she climbed so high in his service. Petyr seemingly found no attraction in any woman but he appreciated determination to the point where there is no shame or conscience left. He took her money but Sansa couldn't figure out why. If Jon wasn't wounded when she reached him, that piece of information would trouble her more than it did now. But the money, no matter how much she had left was something she needed if she were to continue to live on her own. Without a proper education and no particular skill set, that money and Jon were only things she had. She tried not to dwell on it for too long. Otherwise she would drive herself mad because of the hopeless situation she found herself in. Petry never had any particular reason why he did the things he did, it all seemed chaotic in the moment but in the end, the cards he played would always be in his favor. In this instance, Sansa could only guess what his end game might be.

She got dressed and walked downstairs. The voices stopped arguing long before she reached the kitchen and she found Jon alone, sitting at a dining table. Small pieces of black metal were laid in front of him. He was cleaning a gun.

\- Good morning Sansa. – He said pushing a small brush though the barrel. She muttered a small 'good morning' back walking to the kitchen counter. Jon didn't seem distracted by her presence and he continued cleaning the gun with great devotion.

Seeing him handle that gun reminded her that Jon was a professional soldier once, trained in all kinds of fire arm. She couldn't help but wonder how many times the bullet he fired found its way to the target.

\- Coffee? – She asked pouring a cup of freshly brewed coffee into a mug. She strained her voice trying to cover the uneasiness she felt. It was something she had to grow accustomed to. Jon had his moments in the day where he refused to talk, building an invisible wall around him. Mary warned her about that but it still bothered Sansa that he could shut down so easily.

\- Yes, thank you. – Jon answered with his eyes still on the gun. – No milk, no sugar. – Sansa nodded pouring him a cup. After she handed him the coffee, she took the milk, filling her cup all the way up.

\- Rough night? – Sansa asked sitting next to him.

\- No. – He answered, hearing himself lie. Sansa seemed she didn't remember his small nocturnal visit and he hoped she wouldn't. She sat in silence watching him in the corner of her view. He didn't touch the coffee and he was in no mood to talk either.

\- I could never handle the coffee the way you drink it. – She tried to lighten up the mood. – Too bitter.

\- Yeah. – Jon smiled but it never reached his eyes. – Milk and sugar, it does sound like something you would enjoy. Jon started to assemble the gun back and the whole process intrigued Sansa. She watched him freely now and her shyness disappeared in the peaceful manner Jon handled the gun.

\- Have you ever held a gun? – Jon asked noticing her curiosity.

\- No. – She said quietly.

\- Would you like to? – Jon handed her the gun, the grip facing Sansa.

\- I…I would. – Her thin fingers wrapped around the grip carefully. The weight of the thick metal surprised Sansa. It weighed her wrist down and she held it like she didn't know what it was used for. The tip of her index finger passed across the trigger. It was a natural positioning that her hand made holding the gun that frightened the most. It was designed to be held in this way and if she pressed the trigger something on the other side could die just from this little, almost insignificant move of one finger.

\- Don't worry. Safety is on. – Jon added looking at her holding the gun awkwardly. – I guess you weren't meant to hold a gun. – He smiled taking the weapon back. Sansa smiled back, relieved that the coldness of the gun was no longer between her fingers.

\- Do you know a lot of women that were meant to hold a gun? – Sansa asked taking a sip of warm coffee.

\- Not a lot, but I do. – Said Jon putting the gun back in a holster next to him.

\- So women don't generally use guns? – Pleased that all this gun talk had put him in a better mood, Sansa wanted to continue the conversation. Jon stood up, taking the holster and putting it in one of the kitchen cabinets. He leaned on the counter, one hand in the pocket of his jeans and other holding the mug. It was almost unimaginable to think he was gravely injured just days before. His shoulders were relaxed and neck slightly bent forward making his messy hair to fall down his forehead.

\- No. – He was still reserved in his answers.

\- What do they use then? – Sansa turned in her chair, looking at him. She was afraid that she might push some wrong buttons asking him so many questions but it seemed that for now, Jon was along for the ride.

\- More refined weapons, I would assume. – He shrugged.

\- Like knives? – Jon smiled slightly listening to her. It was pure curiosity that made Sansa ask these questions. Just like a little child, she was oblivious to the fact they were talking about killing.

\- Poison. – Sansa frowned in confusion. – When you hold a gun, most of the time, the other person knows what is up against. – Jon continued. – A smart man or a woman never reveals that they are about to kill. We clink glasses as a sign of trust. A violation of that trust seems far more dangerous that any gun ever made. – His voice became heavier the more he spoke. Jon placed his mug in a sink, not finishing his coffee.

\- You must be hungry. There is some bread in the oven and I'm sure you have been acquainted with my kitchen by now. Eat what you please. – Jon turned and left.

After eating some butter on toast and cheese she went to the living room. Mary was nowhere to be seen and Sansa wondered where she could have been. A deep snow was covering the horizon but Sansa could clearly see the fresh shallow tracks of a car on the road. Someone was here, either last night or this morning. Like so many times before, she concluded it was better not to ask too much questions.

Jon was sitting in a living room with a book in his left and a glass of whiskey in the right hand. She never saw him with his reading glasses on and that sight amused her. They had a thin black frame around the glass and made him seem so different from a man that had cleaned the gun in the kitchen not too long ago. She gazed over the bookshelf reading the titles. Jon read a lot of Russian literature and almost every novel Dostoevsky wrote cold be found squeezed between other classics from Shakespeare, Wilde, Tolstoy, Joyce, Austen… She grabbed the one she read before, _Pride and Prejudice_ and sat on the futon next to the fireplace. Warm flames hugged her body and she wanted to spend the rest of the morning like this, with Jon, reading. The title of the book he was holding caught her attention. It was _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde.

\- I never liked that book. – Sansa said after a long silence.

\- Me neither. – Said Jon raising his look away from the pages.

\- Then why are you reading it? – Sansa asked.

Jon sighed wrinkling his forehead. – I find it interesting. – He simply stated. – A perfect painting ruined for someone else. – He slowly hummed. Sansa felt the cage around her chest tighten.

\- But I don't blame Dorian for what happened to him. – Jon added watching her closely. Sansa's head emptied as the she felt cold sweat piercing the skin of her palms. She started to nervously play with the corner of the page she was reading, bending the paper.

\- You don't think he is to blame for what happened to his image? – She finally found the strength to say something. Jon though for a moment, studying her face.

\- No. He is the victim.

His words left Sansa silent. She tried to forget she had read that book a few years ago. Lavish life Dorian lived reminded her too much of her own and she suppressed every memory of her ever visiting that world.

\- Then who is to blame? – She insisted on the answer while trying to hide the fact her body was betraying her. She pulled on the edge of the paper, dampening it with the cold sweat of her palms.

\- Henry Wotton. – Jon answered emphasizing every sound that name made.

 _Petyr Baelish._

\- He was an orphaned boy, left alone with nothing but time. – Jon gazed through Sansa, speaking quietly and steadily. – It is a horrific crime to corrupt a young soul. – When he spoke it was like he detached himself from the current situation and continued to dwell in a world known just in his head. – Ay, I don't like it. – He finished shaking his head.

\- I wonder how my portrait would look like. – Sansa said unaware of the words leaving her mouth. A small piece of yellow paper was torn by her fingers. Her blue eyes became wistful and her face expressionless. Before she could take it back Jon said – I know. I wonder that sometimes too. She couldn't distinguish whose painting he was referring to, hers or his own so she asked – You wonder about your portrait?

Instead of answering, Jon stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet.

\- Yes. – He said pouring another glass of whiskey. He poured another one, handing it to Sansa. This time, she took the whiskey. She wanted to ask him what was so wrong with his image, but she was too terrified she would have pushed too far. The silence collected between them as Jon sat back on the sofa, placing the book on the end table.

\- Everything gets torn with wear. – She whispered looking at the glass filled with caramel colored liquid.

\- That's true. – Jon almost chuckled at that remark. He sipped his whiskey slowly, letting the smoky flavor cover his tongue entirely before swallowing. On the other hand, Sansa poured the alcohol straight to her throat. The burning sensation of hard liquor was never something she enjoyed.

\- Did you ever regret anything so strongly that you thought that there was no hope of return? - She asked carefully. Whiskey made her throat burn and it all collected in a ball of fire somewhere in her chest.

\- Maybe. – Jon answered. Sansa waited for an explanation but Jon went silent as a grave after his stingy answer.

\- I did. – She said not being sure of what she tried to accomplish with her question. If she told him, if she showed him, would he understand? Would he even care? Her thoughts became words faster than her fear was taking over her and she continued. – Nowadays everything seems like regret.

\- We all have our demons. – Jon added emptying his glass.

If he were to give her something, anything that was a bit more from what he was telling her now, she felt she might find it in herself to tell him who she really was. There was no need for him to know, deep down she was aware that it is not necessary for her to reveal how she lived before she came into his home. But she wanted to tell him and hearing him talk like this only multiplied that wish. This was a perfect opportunity. They were alone. Two scenarios played in her head simultaneously. If she never speaks about it, they will continue to live in this glass house that surrounds them and a thin alliance they share. If she were to tell him, he might see her in a completely different light. Light she could never escape. Would that be better or worse than the first option, Sansa didn't know.

\- I killed many men in war. – Jon snapped her out of her thinking. It was more like he was thinking too, but aloud. – And when I really thought about each individual one, I found something similar to regret.

\- That must be…horrible. – She whispered.

Jon knew what his regrets were. He regretted the way he treated her, he regretted the thought of raping her, he regretted the way he hated her. Somewhere in him, he regretted the way he hated her mother and his father, the way he couldn't let go of all that time he mourned his own destiny. Once, long time ago, Sansa was something untouchable, unrelatable, a distant image, an idea of a singer whose music he liked. Now, she was as real as any part of his life, human and palpable. Sansa Stark that lived such a comfortable life even after she lost her parents, seemingly not touched by any of it, perished in his arms as he held this visibly tormented young woman. Jon demonized her in his pain. He was angry for letting himself believe she was anything more than a simple girl starved for affection. The fact he was the last one that could give her what she needed filled him with guilt.

\- I regret the way I treated you. – Jon finally said.

\- I regret that too. – A thin smile stretched Sansa's lips. Her glass was empty too.

\- Aren't we a happy pairing? – Jon managed to laugh. The lightness of his approach pulled Sansa out of her own dark thoughts.

\- Yes we are. – She managed to return the laughter. – Isn't it tragic that we had to live through so much shit just to find a way to talk to one another?

Jon was surprised by the language Sansa used. He could never imagine her using profane words but it somehow suited her. He silently agreed, respecting that she was so direct.

\- You should swear more often. – Jon smirked.

\- It's the whiskey. But you think should? – Sansa frowned.

\- It suits you well. Like black does… - He stopped looking at the black wool of her sweater. Sansa quietly gasped noticing his eyes passing down her neck and chest. Her eyes met his. There was something different about them; they were alive, like a deep pit filled with thick black oil that moved and glistened in every color imaginable.

\- It does?

\- Yes… - His voice became hoarser. – So very much. – Sansa felt invisible strings piercing though her lungs and pulling her towards him. The walls were closing on her, but she felt no discomfort, no anxiety. She wanted them to push closer.

\- Like a gun? – She continued.

\- Yes. – He repeated. – A gun suits you.

\- I didn't quite know how to hold it... – Said Sansa remembering how her fingers fondled the smooth cold surface like she was holding something that felt like an extension of her arm, but still so strange.

\- There is time to learn. – Jon said breaking the eye contact. When he grabbed the book from the table, Sansa gasped for air. Her skin started tingling under the surface, a slow, but formidable wave. Her eyes turned to the book. She saw the letters but she didn't read them. She rather watched the page like a still picture, a swarm of black ink on yellow paper.

Jon stood up and walked to the shelves, returned the _Picture of Dorian Gray_ in its place and took his reading glasses of. – I don't think I'll ever finish reading that book.

\- You don't want to know how it ends? I always read the ending before I start. – A shift between a young woman that just a moment ago swore and a little girl that eager for a happy ending even in books like these was a thing that continually fascinated Jon. In short time that they spent together she had proven herself to be brave, compassionate, forgiving and a loving human being. But when she was scared or cornered she spat fire and growled like an injured dog. Still, she saw herself weak and undeserving of redemption. On first sight, there was nothing more to Sansa than a pretty face. If she was mute, one would never know a world she held in her. How could she survive the things that have happened to her but still be so innocent at times? So untainted, untouched, she cherished a little girl in her more than she knew. Jon was convinced he wasn't the first one to underestimate her. On the other hand, Sansa was the person that underestimated herself the most.

\- No. – Jon sighed. – I don't want to know.

\- Oh, then I wouldn't… - Just as Sansa started to speak, the sound of front door opening interrupted them both. A short man with thin brown hair covered in snow walked in. Behind him was Mary, completely covered in thick fabric.

\- Edd. – Jon said man's name.

\- We need to talk. – His voice was reedy and his accent almost as strong as Grenn's. His coat was thin and damp. Everything on him seemed to hang, from his long hair, receding hairline, wide forehead to his patchy beard and boney hands. He was very thin and he reminded Sansa of a praying mantis. He looked at Sansa and then at Jon and said. – Alone.

\- Sansa, would you be so kind and leave us to talk in private? – Jon said. It was an order, sharp and short. She obliged and walked out thinking that is for the best to not know anything.

Jon wasted no time. Hearing the doorknob click and the doors close he looked directly at Edd, his face motionless and his jaw tight.

\- You got the packages? – Jon asked.

-Yeah. – He reached to the inside of his coat and pulled out a plastic bag filled with white powder. – Rest is in the car. - Jon took the bag, licked the tip of his index finger and dipped it into the soft powder. Licking it, his tongue felt numb in the place he touched it.

\- We'll cut it. – He said closing the bag. – Multiple times. How much is in the car?

\- 30 pounds. Sam took the rest. – Edd answered taking his coat off. – Otherwise it would not fit. 50 pounds, man. No more or less that he agreed on. – Mary stood next to them, silent. She took Edd's coat and held it not taking hers off.

\- He gave you a good deal, ay. But that's not the thing that worries me. – Despite what he was saying, Edd leaned on to the soft sofa cushion relaxed.

\- There is nothing to be worried about. – Jon's face was grim like so many times before when Edd would come. They called him Dolorous Edd, he was never a bringer of good news and when he did, they were delivered dry as his boney appearance.

\- It went without a hiccup. – Jon's fingers passed through his coarse beard. – The sooner it's over, the better.

\- It ain't going to be simple as we thought. – Edd took a deep breath and continued. – That bastard Bolton knows your baby sister is here.

Hearing Sansa's name in the same sentence with the man he despised ran through his chest like a spear. - How? – He growled.

\- I don't know. – Edd answered. – But if he knows she's here then he knows you're alive. I told Grenn that one bullet ain't going to make your stubborn ass die. – Edd chuckled. – If a ram ran through you spilling your guts all over Winterfell you would tell that asshole that he missed your liver. – Jon smiled at that comment. Edd was like a brother to him and he grew to love his sense of humor.

\- He doesn't scare me. – Jon muttered.

\- Well, I always said you were crazy to think that. – Edd added. – His old man is mad but he is a sunshiney daffodil compared to Ramsay.

\- We can't hold on to this for too long, Edd, especially not now. – Jon noted.

\- Well if they shoot me no one would give a tiny rat's ass. – Edd raised his voice. – If they shoot you again and you jump of the planet it's all over. – Edd sighed. – My old man was no Eddard Stark. You're the one that's needs to get the fuck out of here, as far from Winterfell as you can. He tried to kill you once and I don't think you can fib your own death two times in a row. Man has a nose of a bloodhound and he knows you're up to something.

Jon knew Edd was right but he was tired of fighting. All his life he fought for something, his new and old family, for a normal life, in the war, with and against the world. It was an endless string of tilting at windmills and in the end Jon thought it got him nowhere. But now he had no choice but to continue. If he told Sansa to leave, where would she go and would she ever feel safe now that Ramsay knows about her. If he were to hurt her because of him, he would never forgive himself. She was a liability he never meant to have. Now, it made perfect sense for them to part ways. A better option would be if they roads never met. An irony was the thing Jon's life was. He built alliances based on his father's name, father that never loved him and when he finally reconsolidated with his sister, he put her in a shooting range.

\- If I leave, Sansa goes with me. – He whispered. Mary gasped hearing that.

\- No, Jon. You can't. – Those were the first words she said after carefully listening two man converse. – She will be sleeping with a gun pointed to her head all the way to the Wall.

\- What is it about Sansa that makes us not see eye to eye anymore? – Jon seemed angered. A strong yaw revealed that his teeth were tightly clenched. When he was angry, Jon was like an animal that just woke up form a long slumber, irritated and impatient.

\- She'll be sleeping with a gun to her head from now on and there would be no one to stop that. I'm her brother! – He spat his words at Mary that listened to him silently. Deep down, she knew he would mellow down as quickly as he got angered. – I don't want for her to get caught in the middle of the crossfire.

\- And she has the money. – Edd intervened. – Thousands upon thousands of Golden Dragons that, I'm sure, she would gladly trade for your protection.

\- No Edd! – Jon started yelling. – She doesn't own me anything and she needs to be left out of this.

\- Then tell me how do you plan to protect her, herself and the...things you have in the car? – Mary asked. Jon clenched his fist in agony, but said nothing.

\- Well, you have to leave. – Edd, just as Mary, didn't react to Jon's anger. – Whether she comes with you is, truth be told, less important. – A shallow smile covered Edd's mouth.

\- Where is Sam? – Jon asked, already being slightly calmer.

\- On his way to the Wall. I hope his fat ass didn't get stuck somewhere in this deep snow. – He smirked. – You should go, the sooner the better.

Jon pressed his fingers up against his temple, thinking. When he finally spoke, his voice was somber and heavy. – I'll go for the Eastwatch.

\- Yes. – Edd said. – And you better hurry if we were ever to see that money. And Jon laughed not because what Edd said was particularly funny.

\- Mary, get me my gun. – Jon ordered. - Tell Wallace I'll be visiting him.

\- I will. – Edd stood up, taking his coat. – Grenn and I can tend to matters here.

In that moment, Jon wished Sansa held a gun longer so he could teach her how to shoot.


	2. Jon's Lullaby

Jon walked to Sansa's room, steps heavy with thinking. He told himself that by doing that he was buying time before he has to explain why they need to leave. Maybe he didn't have to; maybe she will leave with him without questioning. Not knowing what he must say, he was afraid that whatever he did will pull her into his world much deeper he wanted to. Even in this moment, it seemed they were on the edge. He was trying to dislodge Ramsay from his head. He was edged in the soft substance of Jon's brain like a splinter. Ramsay was a natural hunter, one of those with the instincts of a dog. He dug and sniffed, and when the target came into his view, he wouldn't allow himself to tire out. He hunted Jon for three years, like a cat and dog, two men circled around each other, never approaching too closely, but they were near enough that at no moment they forgot that the other one exists.

Sansa wouldn't be a cunning prey – Jon thought to himself. If Ramsay sees her, he will not stop until he gets what he wants. Jon cursed the moment in which he allowed her to stay so much that he would rather hurt her himself than let Ramsay get close to her. Jon didn't like any aspect of what he did and if he could choose, he would leave it all. When he caused pain, it was out of necessity. He wanted him to be the one who is in control and the one who bears the consequences. This seemed out any control.

Before her door, he stopped and stood there for what seemed was too long. Time has passed, time which he could not afford to lose. When he entered her room, he found her lying on the bed, with a book in her hands and with a quizzical expression on her face. Her lips were slightly parted, and her face was so pale that it merged with the walls. The only thing that Jon could see is her burning hair in a sea of bleach. He moved slowly, like a wild animal. He explained that he must go to unplanned business trip and that he would like her to go with him. She did not ask much, just where they were traveling and can she stay with Mary. She did not mention that she should be anywhere else except here and Jon even caught a glimpse of what seemed like eagerness go with him. On the other hand, maybe he needed so desperately for her to come that he started seeing things that didn't exist. The less he needs to force her; the events that follow will be that much easier. Having explained that Mary also leaves, but not with him, she nodded and began packing. She was tranquil and quiet and liked that she did not have to pack a suitcase. She took as a sign of a short absence. Jon couldn't reveal that they might never come back. Not yet. He could not risk her refusing to come with him and to be left alone. If Ramsay gets his hands on her, Jon knew he couldn't do anything else but to come back for her. And then it would be over. For her, for him, for the North.

She packed a few things in her bag and Jon waited patiently, not wanting to rush her. She said goodbye to Mary and to Jon's surprise, Sansa hugged the woman. He felt that their relationship is full of tension, tension whose source was he. In the next few days, he will be alone with Sansa and there was no escape. He cared little about how she will think about him after he tells her where they are going. He could live with her judgment and disrespect. And he did not care for the way in which she might react. It didn't matter. Once they are finally in the car and away from here, she will have no choice but to stay with him, safe. He smiled at her as they got into his SUV. A stingy smile is the best he could. The snow crunched under the tires when they finally set off, leaving Edd, Mary and the house behind them.

There was no music in Jon's car and first couple of minutes they drove in complete silence. The black SUV was sailing in the shallow snow, alone on the road. Inside of Jon's car was sterilely clean, polished and shiny. A complete opposite of what his home was. Sansa touched the shiny surface of the door knob. Heat and sweat of her fingers left a small, muddy imprint. She turned to Jon and realized he left his leather gloves on. His fingers moved slightly, like he noticed that she became aware of this. Without a word, she reached to her bag, pulled a pair of soft leather gloves she loved and she put them slowly on her thin fingers. Jon watched this, his breathing steadily becoming faster. To end her little show, she touched the door knob again, this time, not leaving a mark.

\- I thought the roads were closed. – Sansa finally spoke. She sat clutching the door handle.

\- Not all. - He replied without looking up from the road. She leaned her head against the window focusing on the white horizon that passed by them. Jon watched her with the corner of his eye, taking in the thoughts that passed through her head. As a silent noise, he could hear her head buzzing with questions. She played with the edge of her coat and thoughtfully watched the horizon.

\- Sansa. – Jon called for her.

\- Yes? - She turned her head, watching him.

\- You have to know something about me. - He began. His hands gripped the steering wheel while driving well pass the speed limit.

\- What? - Her voice was small, quiet, but somewhere in the background, he heard how impatient she actually was.

\- I never lie. – He uttered. - No matter who I'm with.

\- I know that. - Sansa said.

\- You know? – He asked.

\- Yes. - She replied, looking at the road ahead. – When you told me that I have to go... - She stopped remembering. - There were other ways to tell me that you do not want me there, but you chose the shortest one, the truth.

\- I'm sorry. - Jon apologized again.

\- There is no reason to be sorry. All that I already knew... - In her voice there was no trace of anger. She was honest, quiet, waiting.

\- Can you promise me something? - Said Jon still not looking at her.

\- What? – She looked at him and Jon felt her cold glance as it walked down his neck. He inhaled deeply, searching for the right words.

\- That no matter what happens, you will not leave my presence. - Jon felt his throat tighten.

\- Why? – She responded with a question. This question is what Jon expected. Still, it took him a moment to breathe, to prepare.

\- Place where we're going is not safe... - He whispered. Her eyes left his body and turned towards the blanket of snow that consistently grew further North they went. She said nothing to that. He caught a glimpse of dices starting to roll in her head. Her face remained stony calm, like porcelain, smooth and tight.

\- All that I already knew. – She finally replied. Hearing this, Jon realized that he underestimated her again.

\- You promise? - He repeated.

\- I promise. – She agreed to it faster than Jon expected. He wondered, what gave her the assumption she can trust him so much. Why she agreed so quickly? Why did she not have more questions? Jon has played an imaginary ping pong with himself, thinking of Sansa, the job that must be done and how she reacted.

\- You're not afraid? - On this question Sansa smiled as a response.

\- I'm not scared. - Her eyes got dimmer, looking for something in the distance.

-Sansa... –Jon began to speak. - We're sitting on 30 pounds of cocaine that by tomorrow morning needs be delivered to Eastwatch by the Sea. - He said in one breath. - If that does not happen, some very dangerous people will be very angry.

Sansas mouth was slightly open in shock, but not because she was sitting on the pounds and pounds of drugs, but because the words she heard were from Jon. Jon finally looked away from the road for a moment, watching her. She was perfectly calm, sitting like a real lady, legs together and knees touching, both hands resting on her lap and her back straight.

\- I will not lie to you, never. – He finished. She twitched slightly in her seat . A small, but noticeable shift - Do not be afraid. - Jon added.

\- I'm not afraid. – Sansa cut off his words. - I told you I'm not afraid. - She barely moved her lips while she talked. Jon has let himself to have another look at her. Changed in a moment, like a chameleon from a girl into a woman who finally knew what she was facing. Her face let no signs of emotion, only the smooth white surface that repelled his words like an oil slick would do to the rain. She was beautiful, especially in times like this. As if she has been frozen, a picture of harmony and beauty that nature gave to this world, perfect and untouchable. Indeed, to hold beauty like this hidden was a sin. She was even more impressive like this, being capable of showing coldness, determination, fearlessness. Whatever Jon said next, he bet that she was prepared for it.

\- You do not need to be. If anything happens ... - Jon paused. - I am here. – She quietly chuckled.

\- You cannot protect me. No one can protect anyone from this world. – She muttered through clenched teeth. – I did not ask for your protection. Even if I might need it.

The prison that was Jon's Volvo became narrower. The words she uttered were so different from what he experienced in his own home. They really did not know anything about each other. They say that we are three different people at the same time. The person you present to others, the person we think we are and the lastly, the person we really are. Between him and Sansa were dozens of variations that reacted different every to stimuli. - Alright. - Said Jon. - Now you know what I do.

\- I know. - She replied.

\- Did you want to know that? – He asked again.

\- Yes. – She nodded. - You deal drugs, a lot of drugs. I can't say I'm not surprised. - Her head was leaning on the seat belt while the car passed though the bumpy snow.

-You're surprised? - Jon, just as her was moved to a strange state of numbness where he did not feel guilt nor urgency. There was only her, and even though he was not looking, he felt everything she radiated. As she became numb after his words, as if she had heard a lot of times, as if they were the norm.

\- For you? Yes. - She explained. Both of them did not separate their sight from the road, their faces became dull, insensitive and whatever they said, it did not cause any reaction. The moment caught in time, the two of them, leaning against the black leather of the Volvo, cutting through the snow and sitting on a pile of cocaine. Somehow, in that moment, that scene had all the sense in the world. Two siblings separated their whole life, who've resented each other for other people's doings for so long that they have forgotten why they really hate one another were caught in something so dangerous that it tickled the broken part in them so gently, they maybe even enjoyed every difficult word that are exchanged.

\- I did not know you were a drug dealer. - Sansa added.

\- I'm not. - Jon replied. - It's just something I have to do.

Sansa knew too much about the things that had to be done. In the first year as a singer, Petyr taught her many things that had to do something - be broken, be fixed or destroyed. If she had more strength then she might have even protested. But the world was so open and shining for the first time after so long, she did not. Comforted by the fact that Jon, the one who did so many things right, ended up as someone who did something so bad. It was selfish, shallow and immature to think so, but she did. For too long she had idealized him that it became such a relief when she was finally able to see him vulnerable and broken. Somewhere deep down, after she heard Jon, she remembered the person she was when she was with Petyr. Alone, cold, calculated. The woman who took what she wanted, not because she wished to, but because she could. In rare moments like this, when she was met with shortcomings of others, she regretted nothing. If she was forced to admit, a part of her enjoyed in a strange way in everything she did when she was with him. Memories of all earthly pleasures she had undergone permeated her body. If Jon had a right to be damaged, so did her. The moment when he told her that they transported cocaine, when he finally admitted things she suspected, she felt less ashamed of herself. The lack of parental love and security did not stop him to wander of the right path, until now. His actions somehow justified Sansa's.

In circumstances she found herself in, Sansa believed, at least at this moment, that she did well. The entire world, even her honorable brother was guilty of being corrupted. Even her father. Petyr was right. There was no good or evil in this world, there is only power. Her mind regressed to that point where she bathed in luxury of pearls and champagne and if everyone wanted those things, she is not the one to be accused of doing the same.

\- So you don't deal in great amounts of cocaine? – She dared to ask.

\- I don't. – Jon said.

\- So what do you do with it? – The amount of cockiness in her voice caught even her off guard.

\- Nothing really. – Jon tried to justify his actions. – I just transport it. – He was visibly uncomfortable by this conversation and the calmer Sansa got, the more Jon squirmed in his seat.

\- I've seen cocaine before Jon. You don't have to lie. – Her voice was coarse, she was mocking him. For all he knew, she knows more about cocaine than him. It was naive of him to think she never saw any drugs. The amount of money she probably had could buy all the cocaine that was in the car and there would be plenty more for leftovers. He thought of times she might be in a close proximity to drugs. Maybe she enjoyed them more than he would allow himself to think. Thinking of Sansa sniffling white strips of cocaine made him tremble. And an image of a little girl was stained. But, there was something that intrigued, attracted him towards her. Just a slight change, a misstep. She was perfect, just as she was. His little sister, someone he tried to differentiate from a woman he saw in his posters, was real, flesh and bones, sitting next to him, more complex than he could ever imagine.

\- You tried it? – He asked quietly.

\- Once. – She whispered, still struggling between what she wanted him to see and what she was. – But I tried other things too. Alcohol, sleeping pills...

\- How was it? – Jon asked. He wasn't aware of words leaving his mouth. He simply wanted to know. A tight capsule that held their conversation enveloped them in a thigh embrace. Even though he was in a driver seat, he felt like his presence was intertwining with hers.

\- It was good. – she simply stated. – If you like that sort of things.

\- What else you tried? - He asked, taking advantage of the bizarre situation they both found themselves in. If she knew about it, he thought that there was little to no chance she would judge him for what they were doing now.

\- I... It's something I don't do anymore. – She backed out. – I don't want to. It brings great sadness to everyone who try it. - His sister, such a beauty, underneath all that alabaster her skin was, held secrets no one knew. A road they took seemed more complicated than snow they traveled thought now. In the same time, Sansa felt both guilty and relieved. Jon might deal in drugs, but he was never weak enough to try them. A weakness took over her limbs; she couldn't feel her hands anymore. She was bad, beyond any repair and if she even let herself believe she was nothing but bad, she would go crazy.

\- I was bad. – She gasped.

\- That's okay. I am too. – Jon smiled. There they were - words she needed to hear. It's okay.

\- I did things... –Sansa continued. – Really bad ones.

-Well, who hasn't? – Jon's voice became deeper as he tried to keep the vehicle steady on the icy road. – Don't do this to yourself. – He muttered. - I'm sure you did what you had to do.

\- I thought there was good in this world. – Her windpipe became clogged with groans. - Even father, the most honorable man...and yet here you are. – She tried to say that even he made a mistake, but seeing that same mistake right in front of her, a man she has to depend on now, whether she wished so or not, she couldn't say it.

\- Yet here I am. – He snarled. It pained him still that no matter what happened, she couldn't change the way she sees him completely. He will always be her half-brother, something that is only partly accepted.

\- Maybe there is still hope. For everyone. – She whispered. Jon listened, waiting for her to finish. A small ball of anger collected in his chest, slowly setting next to his heart. – That from something what seemed like a horrible mistake, something that tore apart so many, so much good can come.

The ball of anger he held melted away washing over his body with every beat.

\- If it wasn't for you, I would be lost now, Jon. – Jon. The way she said his name, a small flick of a tongue, caressed his eardrum sending small shivers down his back.

\- Funny. – He chuckled. – When I think of you, I think of the same thing.

There was no time to say much else. Jon slowed the car down, pulling over next to, what seemed to be a pub. It was a two story high house, nothing like Jon's was. It was bulky and wide, with the pub on the ground floor and rooms on the second. A flickering sign read The Rabbit Hole. Bellow that, a faded white caption showed three words. The last destination. Jon told her to put on her hat and to tuck her long red waves underneath it. She listened to him and squished the thick hair to her scalp the best she could.

\- Pull your collar all the way up. – He ordered studying her appearance. She was dressed in long beige coat that covered her knees and black boots that, although pretty were not suited for this weather.

\- Let me do the talking. – Jon grabbed her arm before they entered. He looked at her and his eyes seemed to shiver. He was afraid. – And if someone asks, and they will, you're not my sister. – She nodded. She found that Jon's reaction to things that were happening was a perfect barometer for how dangerous the situation was or how important something really is. If he cared for it, she had to care for it.

It was more of a watering hole for all sorts of wild animals than a pub. Almost completely empty, it was a cold and brown space, with wooden paneling that reached all the way to the ceiling. It was damp and uninviting with metal tables and chairs that were most likely old patio furniture. Just like everything else, it was rusty and worn. Jon walked to the bar and Sansa followed him closely. An old bartender with long and gaunt face greeted him warmly, but quietly. Sansa looked around. Besides two men sitting in the corner next to the door, they were the only patrons.

\- Dear Jon. – He said, extinguishing his cigarette. Jon shook hands with the man, smiling.

\- Wallace. – He said man's name. After he greeted Jon, Wallace turned and looked at Sansa.

\- And who is this lovely creature you brought to this God forsaken burrow? – Asked Wallace with his raspy voice. His teeth were brownish yellow, just like his fingers. Sansa didn't answer, waiting for Jon to react.

\- That's my lady. – Jon smiled turning his head. He looked at Sansa, searching for reassurance in her eyes.

\- The last one you brought was pretty, but this one… - He made a gesture with his hands, passing over Sansa's body in air. – This one is out of this world. What do they see in you, I don't know. – The man laughed, trying to suppress the cough. - What can I get for you two love birds? Something to drink? A room?

\- Just water Wallace, thanks. – Said Jon.

\- And the lady? – Wallace asked not moving his eyes from Sansa's face.

\- Water will be fine. – She said, trying to cover the uneasiness in her voice.

\- Don't tell me Jon that this one has managed to make you into a decent man? – Wallace asked searching for glasses. – I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss…

\- Alayne. – Sansa answered without hesitation. Jon looked at her with tension in his eyes, but it seemed old Wallace handn't suspect a thing.

\- Alayne… - Wallace smirked letting the letters roll of his tongue. – Mhmm. – He let out a groan out of his throat. – Even the name is better than that Wilding you had. – Wallace handed them the glasses filled with cold water.

\- Wildling? – Sansa asked instantly regretting the fact she has lost herself in an image of Jon being here with another woman and forgetting the fact she was not supposed to attract attention to herself. Jon's back jerked in his bar chair, but his face remained calm. Wallace was silent, drying the glasses with he just washed.

\- No need to be jealous dear. – Jon nervously smiled looking at her. – She is in the past.

\- Ugh, it's for the best. – Wallace complained. – That wild thing ransacked half of my lovely establishment once. – He grinned. – Oh, I'm sorry Jon, no need to talk about that. – He turned to Jon and smiled. He was drenched in cheap tobacco that mixed with the smell of mildew that was in the air.

\- Did Edd call? – Jon interrupted Wallace's little monologue.

\- He did. – The man's face suddenly turned serious.

\- I'm in a hurry. – Said Jon emptying his glass. He leaned on the bar, his strong arms tightening the fabric of his coat.

\- Give me five minutes. – Wallace laid aside the rag he was using to dry his glasses and he disappeared behind the door next to the bar. When he left, Sansa took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Noticing that, Jon took her hand into his. Even though the two layers of soft leather, she still felt how warm his hands were.

\- Calm… - He whispered holding her hand tightly.

\- I'm calm. – She protested, yanking her hand out of his grasp. – Why do you have to go to this man when you clearly don't trust him? – She looked at him, her eyebrows scrunched.

\- Oh I trust Wallace with my life. – Jon answered.

\- They why did you lie? – Her voice became higher. Jon raised his hand, warning her to speak quietly.

\- I trust him with my life, not yours. – He whispered. – And I'm sure you know how that is, Alayne. – He stung her with his words. It's been a while since she had to introduce herself like that and she hoped she would never have to again. Jon won this verbal sparring and Sansa pressed her lips together in anger, but she said nothing. This was his territory and she was the one that needed to adapt. If they were in King's Landing, she knew she would ask of him to act in a certain way. Everything Jon was belonged in the North and nowhere else. It was hard to imagine him in the South, with his distressed look and constant brooding. In the South, people were lighter. It may have been a fabricated image of easiness, but it was real nonetheless.

Wallace returned shortly after an uncomfortable silence took place between Jon and Sansa. He handed to Jon a room key. Jon thanked the man and grabbed Sansa's hand again pulling her towards the door next to the one Wallace just passed through. They opened to a narrow hallway. She had no choice but to follow. They passed couple of rooms and stopped in front of the one with the number eight on it. Jon carefully unlocked the door revealing a small room with two single beds without sheets on them, a closet and an end table.

\- I don't understand, we're staying here? – Sansa asked when he closed the door behind them.

\- No. – Jon sighed.

\- Then what are we doing? – Sansa was annoyed with the way he was acting now. If he wanted for her to come with him, he could at least give her that much credit and tell her what his plans were.

\- Lower your voice. – He growled at her. – You saw two men when we walked in, right? – Jon's voice was quiet, but sharp. She angered him. – One of them is called Smalljon Umber and he's not a friend.

Sansa felt like a stupid little girl all over again. Just like Petyr, Jon somehow found a way to make her feel small and thoughtless. If she exchanged one man that always undermined her for another, she felt like she was better off on her own. While she got lost in her own thoughts, Jon kneeled next to one of the beds, pulling a small metal case underneath it. He placed it on a bed and after playing with the lock, a click was heard and he opened it. Inside were a small hand grenade, an ammunition pack and two guns, a handgun similar to one Sansa already saw and a smaller silver revolver. He grabbed the silver weapon, turned it couple of times in his hard, inspecting it and then he looked at Sansa.

\- This one is yours. – She looked at the gun, her eyes wide in surprise and back at Jon. He was no longer angry and he looked at her back with the same warmth he did in the bar. – Take it.

\- I don't know how to shoot. – She said not as a sign of disagreement but as a sign of concern. Jon walked closer to her, taking her right hand with his left and placing the gun on her palm. – I'll teach you. – He said wrapping her fingers around the cold steel. – Keep it always near you. I know you might not want to, and there is a chance you will never have to use it… - He spoke slowly, closing the distance between them, still holding her hand. – But I will be much calmer if you did. – Jon finished waiting for her response. She was tall as he was and seeing her deep blue eyes so close to his was something he thought he would never see. They held a gun between them, it was the only thing parting them now and suddenly the air around them became warmer than it should be. Sansa nodded, taking the gun and putting it in her purse next to the money and the pills. She collected peculiar relics in short time she spent in the North and every new thing that found its way to the insides of her purse seemed more dangerous than the last one.

Jon returned to the metal case resting on the bed and just as he was about to close it he noticed a small black carton box at the bottom. That slimy bastard, Jon thought to himself. Trying not to disturb Sansa more that he did already, he closed the case, locking it.

They left the room eight and found themselves back in that narrow corridor. It was well pass noon and sensing the urgency, Jon quickly started walking down the corridor, searching for something. Before Sansa could ask anything, he stopped by the number eleven. With the same key he opened the door and walked into a dark room, even smaller than the one before. This one served as a pantry with another door at the other side. He walked towards it, urging Sansa to follow him. Cold winter air splashed Sansa's cheeks. They were on the other side of the Rabbit Hole. Jon walked to his left and they were soon back next to his Volvo. Relieved that they were finally out of that fishy place, Sansa got into the SUV. Jon carefully placed the metal box on the back seat. Once they were moving again, Sansa decided to ask him about this unusual procedure.

\- So you do this a lot? – She asked thinking about Wallace and The Rabbit Hole.

\- Only when necessary. – He answered. Thinking that this will be one of his short answers followed by a long silence, Sansa didn't expect him to continue. – Wallace is an old friend of my father. - She frowned slightly hearing him utter those words.

\- My other father. – Jon added. This is the first time he spoke about his adoptive parents and Sansa, resisting the urge to ask more, reminded herself that with Jon, it's better for her to wait for him to open up on his own. But he said nothing after that. A small smile graced her lips but nothing more. She wanted to ask him so many questions but the fact they were doomed to spend the next couple of days together stopped her. Why did he take her on this trip if he knew how dangerous it was? Why did she have to leave with him? Why couldn't she stay with Mary? And was this the reason he got shot in the first place? She didn't felt safe not knowing.

\- Why did you take me with you only to hand me a gun shortly after? – She couldn't resist the urge anymore.

\- Why did you agreed to come? So quickly? – He asked in return. Knowing the real reason, she found herself without an answer. – I told you I would never lie to you. – Jon continued. – And I expect for you to do the same.

This was it. Jon pushed her into a corner. It didn't made sense to lie anymore, not now.

\- We need to trust each other. We can't fight a war amongst ourselves, we have so many enemies… - He looked away from the empty road ahead and she was greeted by those same black eyes with lingering flames that held her presence tightly. A deep hum of his voice calmed her down.

\- Enemies? – She asked, her face warped with confusion.

\- A man that wants me dead knows you're here. – He muttered. – And he wants to hurt you too.

He slowed down the car while watching her. In that moment, there was nothing more important than the girl sitting next to him. If he could, he would turn the car around and take her somewhere safe without a second thought.

It all made sense now. Why he was shot, why he couldn't let anyone find out about the way he got his wound. His wound. He was still probably in so much pain. Jon was strong, but there was no chance that a hole that the bullet made could have healed in four days. She only knew him for four days and to her, it already seemed like a lifetime. Why he wanted her to leave his life so badly and why he decided that she must be next to him at all times. It was all to protect her. She felt the tear collecting in the corner of her eye. While everything Jon did was selfless, she clung to him because of her own well-being. He carried an open wound and still, he managed the strength to place her first.

\- I came to you because there was nowhere else for me to go. – She finally let herself admit. Sansa couldn't face him; she looked at her boots with her head bent in shame. She didn't notice him stopping the car in the middle of the road, she didn't hear him unbuckling his seatbelt, but she couldn't ignore his strong arm wrapping around her. She turned, embracing him and letting the tears fall on his coat.

\- I should have told you about this, about why I returned to the North... – Her silent cry was muffled by his shoulder. He broke the hug only to touch her face. Warm skin passed over Sansa's cheek. He took his gloves off.

\- It's okay. – He whispered.

It was all she wanted to hear him say. That it was and will be okay. His palm found its way to the back of her neck. He gently pulled her hat, releasing her red hair. Just when Sansa thought he would break the embrace completely, he pulled her closer, planting a small kiss on her forehead. A fresh smell of peonies filled his nostrils and for the first time he didn't hesitate to breathe the soft smell in.

The ride to nowhere became tediously long after what happened. The air filled with heaviness, the stench of narrowness hugged every molecule and it became impossible for Sansa to breathe. People don't think enough about breathing, it comes naturally to most of us. Just like our brains are constantly filled with thoughts so are our lungs constantly filled with air. And if one stops to think about breathing, just like focusing on one single thought, it becomes impossible to think about anything else. Breathing, just like thinking should never be hard but they were the things Sansa struggled to do ever since she stopped doing everything else and examined the thing the world has molded her into. An unusual feeling - seeing yourself like somebody else would. Seeing yourself through the eyes of the person you once were. A stranger looks at you and it's the stranger we see but none of them exist. It's the moment when the reality escapes us and we are forever trapped in between.

In between. A land where nothing exist, where the man has an ability to choose but never does. Sometimes it seems all of our lives are painted in the land called In between. Between the life and death, the good and the bad, the past and the future. The life is a single flash between the moment when we don't exist and the moment we stop existing, a speck of light placed on a larger canvas and if we blink, we might miss it.

They were nearing a train station and she could hear the train moving on the tracks, it's sound was washing over the white silence of the North. Soon, she was able to see a long black vehicle pushing though the snow.

She didn't have any strength to continue talking to Jon. She dried her tears and moved away from his arms. He saw in her eyes that he touched the part that wished not to be disturbed. He already loved her so much that if she wanted never to speak of it again, it wouldn't matter to him. Jon knew that some people can be helped only if they are not helped at all. He respected the dark slumber of her thoughts just as he fiercely defended his. He felt a seemingly sad understanding between them. There is peace in the darkness and once it covers it all, light can hurt it. It takes time to get accustomed to the darkness around you and once you do, being in light again can only blind you.

Even though Sansa wished not to speak again, in her head she could hear her own voice still talking to Jon.

\- There's the train. Wonder where it goes? It's so easy to take a train, you know. It tells you all the stops and you know when you need to get of. Everyone compares life to a train ride but I don't think it's a good comparison at all. Even if you miss your station, you can always follow the rails back. When you miss a station in life there are no rails to follow and you can get completely and utterly lost. I don't like trains, Jon. I don't like traveling at all. There is something nauseous about it. It represents change of events, plans, people and places. I only travel if I have to.

Sansa leaned her head against the window letting the mellow hum of the engine calm her down. The white blanket became so thick that if she would to step into the untouched snow, it would reach her knees. They passed by a couple of snow ploughs along the way and the road was mostly cleaned. Only a thin layer of fresh snow covered the asphalt now.

\- If I could, I would live every day in a same manner. - She contunued. - I would get up early, see the sunrise and drink the tea. Maybe even Mary's verbena, I grew to really enjoy it. Old nan used to collect her own herbs. I wonder where she is now? I would tend to my own garden in the morning and I would cook my own food. Even though I don't know how, but I would learn. Oh, it would be so much fun Jon, mixing all the ingredients and watching them make something new. In the afternoon I would write, sew or read books with endings so happy it would make my heart cry from joy. And in the end I would go to sleep in sheets that smell like chamomile and lavender. Maybe I would get a pup, to keep me company. I don't think there is more to life than that. What do you think? What does life mean if not that?

She looked at him just for a moment, somehow waiting for the response. He was focused on driving the car.

\- Would you like to live like that, Jon? Somewhere far away from this mess. Maybe you can start again too...

She wished she could share her thoughts with him, a world in her she held dear. Every time when it became too difficult for her to think about the reality she would pack her thoughts in a suitcase and carried them to a place where she felt safe. We all have that little safe haven where even our own thoughts can't reach us. A small cottage on the edge of some village was Sansa's. Decorating the rooms and filling them with her presence was her only amusement when she would struggle to fall sleep. She moved to that cottage for the first time when her parents died and she was homeless. So she built another home in her thoughts.

\- I didn't mean to scare you... - She heard Jon's voice that pulled her back to reality.

Sansa wasn't afraid of the things that were happening, not anymore. It's her own life that frightened her the most and nothing that Jon does will change that.

\- I'm not afraid. - She repeated those words like a prayer. - I'm not afraid of you or what you do. - Sansa explained. - I can't let myself be afraid of that too.

Jon listened carefully. If he was to continue keeping her alive, he needs to find a way to know her, who she is what it is that hurts her so much.

\- What are you afraid of? - Jon asked.

\- Mostly life becoming too real for me. - Sansa sighed.

\- Well, there is no escaping reality. - Jon tried to smile, but it didn't help. Sansa looked tired, drained from everything that has happened in past couple of hours.

\- There might be a way to escape it... - Sansa whispered. - Did you ever wish to escape your own reality?

\- Right now. This is the reality I want to escape from. - Jon thought to himself but instead of that he only said - Sometimes.

\- I think we all do. - Sansa said. - And people who say they don't are just fooling themselves.

Jon chuckled. - Maybe you're right.

What was it about his laugh that made her feel at ease, she could not fathom. Jon was a troubled man and Sansa had no doubt in that but he was never weighed down by the events in his life. He had his moments of anger but they never lasted long enough to change him. Maybe it was the fact he never knew anything but difficulties that made him so resilient. Sansa on the other hand was perfectly happy until someone ripped her out of her life and made her learn all the things that took years for Jon to learn, in one night - How it is to be discarded, alone and without a family.

\- How much farther we have to go? - Sansa asked after a long silence. She wanted to talk to him, but their interactions were like walking in a minefield. They never knew which one of them would go off. She didn't want to anger him, and he didn't want to hurt her but they both wanted to speak.

\- It's a long ride. - Jon replied. - But we will be there soon. Don't worry.

She continued watching the snowflakes touching the window. There was no music, no words.

\- Would you like to live like that Jon? - She repeated the question in her head.

\- How would you like to live? - She was focused on the snow passing them by that she didn't notice the words leaving her mouth. Only when Jon answered she realised that she was thinking aloud.

\- Somewhere on the countryside. Alone. - He said.

\- What? - Sansa asked.

\- You wanted to know how would I live. - Jon looked at her.

\- Oh, that... - She smiled uncomfortably. - I was thinking aloud.

\- I would maybe get a pack of dogs, to keep me company. - Jon added.

\- You like dogs? - Sansa asked.

\- I have a dog. - Jon smiled.

\- Where is he? - Sansa didn't remember seeing a dog anywhere or anyone mentioning the animal.

\- Sam, my friend has him. The night I was shot... - Jon started explaining. - Ghost got injured too. Sam took him to the veterinarian so he could get help.

\- The help you didn't want? - Sansa remembered Grenn reluctantly accepting Luwin's help.

\- Ghost has nothing to hide. - Jon winked at her. A small, mischievous wink followed by a smile.

\- What do you have to hide? - Sansa welcomed this change of tone in their conversation.

\- All kinds of things, Sansa. - He smirked.

He caught her of guard. She forgot about Wallace, guns and drugs. If Jon had this much power over how she was feeling now when she didn't really knew him, how much will he really influence her if they become closer?

\- You think Ghost will like me?

\- If he's anything like his owner, he'll have no other choice. - Jon smiled.

A large structure appeared on the horizon. Sansa never thought she would see the day where The Wall would be so close. A lonely giant that slept for generations was in front of her and she, just like many others before her, couldn't but admire it's presence.

\- It's pretty impressive. - Jon said noticing her reaction. - We take a turn to the right here and we will be in Eastwatch by the Sea soon.

His hand touched hers and he held it for a split second. - Soon.

The Wall, just like many other walls represents the end - the end of space, the enclosure from the world, a sanctuary. Usually, when one builds a wall, it's for protection. We build our homes from walls that connect and shelter us. If our homes keep us safe with their thin bricks then how afraid the man was when he built 700 feet high wall? We hide in our homes, behind piles of nothing more than rubble, we hide behind city walls and we hide behind our country borders. The man yearns for safety and no matter how many walls we build it always seems we need another one. Men are strange creatures. We shelter our bodies and minds behind walls and yet we expect for people to come knocking on our doors so we are not alone. Not everyone dares or even wants to knock to find out what we are hiding.

The Wall was built long time ago, so long ago that no one remembers why they needed it. Some say that it was built to keep the Wildling invasions out. Thousands of years ago, the Northern tribes were in constant war with the Wildlings. The Northerners were more advanced and they claimed the land north of The Neck, taking it from the Wildlings. In return, the Wildlings raped and pillaged their villages, stealing their crops. The fertile land was scarce and in places where it was possible to grow crops, the Northerners built their stone houses and walls. As time went by, the vast North became too crowded. Not being able to feed themselves, the Wildlings were pushed to the far North, their numbers thinned out and their culture at the verge of extinction. A war of a thousand days and nights gave birth to a stone wall so high that it touches the sky. The feud between Northerners and Wildlings might be forgotten, but it was never forgiven. Even though two cultures intertwined with one another, Wildlings were still seen as the second-class citizens with some even saying that the Wildlings will never have the capacity of a Northerner to live a civilized life.

Sansa's father rarely talked about politics. To her, he was never Eddard Stark, the Governor of the North but Ned, her father, a strong but gentle man with tired look in his eyes. It seemed to her that he was the happiest when he was home, helping her mother, carrying little Bran on his back and Rickon on his chest. A beautiful image that swallowed by the dark. He cared little for power and when the time would come for him to make an important decision; he would always ask himself the same question. If he could choose, would he do this to his own family? And if the answer was no, the Northern Parliament would have to revise their suggestion. He was loved by the people and it was the love for the North that got him killed.

Sansa sometimes wished she got into their car that night when the accident happened. She protested going to the Vale to visit their aunt, she wanted to stay home, a silly teenager wanting to have a slumber party in an empty house. Couple of hours later, their car crashed and they burned. Life as Sansa knew it, burned with them. It was a murder no one could prove. Her aunt Lysa wanted nothing to do with the girl and from that point on she belonged to one man – Petyr Baelish.

She trusted the man, he loved her mother dearly and she had no other choice but to come with him. They asked her whether she chooses to come with him and she chose to say yes. If she knew better, if everything around her wasn't a salty fog of tears, she might have refused him. The house they lived in still stood in Winterfell and it was hers if she chooses to live in it. Maybe Sansa could come back to that graveyard of memories if she had the strength to face her old home. It was so distant to her it became hard to remember she ever lived in it. She had no place to call home besides one small cottage in her mind. Her mind was her home, her curse and her salvation.

And now, she had Jon. She always had Jon but she refused to see him. For her, Jon wasn't better than a Wildling, someone who was second-class person, second-class family member, charged of being guilty without making a crime, dismissed only because of the way he was born. How much good there is in Jon that after everything he went through, he managed to welcome a person that hated him into his own home?

He was the whole North in one person.

Someone wanted him dead. Just like her father, Jon was the North, a formidable force someone wanted to silence. He reminds her of Ned, his dark eyes and his strong yaw were only thing left from her father in this world. Jon was blood of her blood, a crackling fire in a cold icy night, a song she could sing to a peaceful sleep. Jon was the North and with him she was home. Looking at the deep snow she knew this was her land and she was a child of winter, a wounded she-wolf that howled in the night in pain caused by strangers.

Sansa looked at Jon. He smiled at her and she thought to herself that a person that wants him dead must be deranged. Men like Jon are born into this world to stay. Jon must live and Sansa wanted to stay next to the warm fire in him.

\- This man… - Sansa said. – That wants you dead. Who is he?

\- His name is Ramsay. – Jon answered and Sansa waited for him to sad more, but he remained silent. Sansa bit her lip wondering if she could allow herself to ask more. If this man succeeds in his attentions, he will kill the last family Sansa had left.

\- Why does he want you dead?

Jon sighed. He seemed tired.

\- He's an evil man. – He muttered. – He doesn't need a reason to want me dead.

\- But there is a reason… - She persisted. – Is there, Jon?

\- Yes. – He whispered.

\- Why does he want to kill you? – Sansa raised her voice. – You have to tell me, Jon. Don't leave me in the dark.

He looked at her face that was crumbled in frustration. She was worried but somewhere on her face Jon saw a smidgen of mistrust and it reflected on his face like in a mirror. He trusted her, but not with this. The girl was born in the North but she was never a Northerner. She carried her mother's eyes and warm Southern sunsets in her hair. If he told her, would the North sing to her like it did to Jon in his dreams? Would she feel the soft vibrations of the land beneath them as the North curled in pain of its people? Would the wolf call to this girl so detached from who she is if he told her what he knew?

\- The North is a complicated place… - Jon started. – Especially now. The North…

\- I don't care about that, Jon. – Sansa interrupted him. – Why does he want to kill you? Why does he want to hurt me?

Her blue eyes got lost in that question - a little girl spoke somewhere deep in her, afraid she will lose her brother to another stranger. A little girl spoke as a child would, unaware of the things that have happened. In that moment, Jon realized that Sansa knew nothing about the suffering of the North.

\- He wants me dead… - Jon's throat tightened. – Because I'm Eddard's son. – He finished the sentence feeling the uneasiness grow in Sansa.

\- Why is that a reason… And me? - She spoke slowly, thinking.

\- We are in a middle of rebellion, Sansa. – He finally said, his voice flat and cold. – I thought you know what happened in the North.

His words struck her as cold water. She stood still, looking at the road, letting the words sink in.

\- Don't be afraid. – Jon added, reaching for her hand. She pulled back, leaving the void between them.

\- I'm not afraid. – Sansa repeated the same words. – I… - She struggled for words. – Why is there a rebellion? I thought…

\- We all did. – Jon took a turn from the main road to the left to the winding road that climbed in wide curves up a stony mountain. – The rest of Westeros fights its own wars and no one really knew what happened in the North. No one really cared. – The gloominess took over his words and they flew thought air like water would, soft and enveloping. Sansa was silent, listening to him as the low hum of the engine became quieter. Dead silence of the forest around them took her in its eerie embrace. They were deep in the wild, untamed North that was both terrifying and beautiful. The branches of trees were black, frostbitten and covered in untouched snow. The trees were dead and their hands hung above them as they passed by. Sansa felt like they have disturbed a creature sleeping and she wished to leave it alone.

\- Cared for what? – It seemed to her that Jon SUV was slower and the road became never ending. A small shudder crawled underneath her skin making her move ever so slightly closer to Jon.

\- For what happened here. – Jon was focused on the road more than before. – A big power shift happened when… - He stopped for a moment, thinking. – When father died. When Eddard died. – Jon was searching for the right words. Sansa met his eyes and slightly nodded, listening.

\- North was taken by the Southerners. – Jon continued. – And even though Boltons are Northerners, they don't answer to the North but to a stranger in the South. A little independence we had was taken from us and as every oppression does, it started slowly. - His words echoed in Sansa's ears. – At first, we didn't noticed what happened, the land was in shock. After that it became numb, senseless… We were never a rich land to begin with. – Jon shook his head. – But what we had was enough.

Sansa never heard anyone talk like this about the land they live on. In that moment, she envied Jon for his love of the North, love she never had. Another thought came to her. She knew the man Jon talked about. Roose Bolton was the man she saw once in Petyrs night club.

Petyr.

She wished for the image of that man to stop haunting her, but whatever happened, it always came back to him. She was as far North as the North goes and that man was still close.

\- A starving animal is angry, but weak. They took our land. It wasn't a democratic thing that happened; it became a tyranny in disguise. – Jon continued, his teeth clenched. – We had to find another way to fight it.

\- That's why you do the things you do… - Sansa whispered.

\- Yes. – He answered.

Sansa's chest filled with pain and fear, stretching the iron cage that she carried. It finally came to her – there was no home to come back to. The North was tortured and lost because of someone else and just like her, it tried to find ways to fight it, to stand back and lick its wounds. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She tried to escape the realization that no matter where she goes, she can never leave the pain behind her.

When she opened her eyes, the forest came into a clearing. A town was beneath them. It was Eastwatch by the Sea, a small port at the edge of the world. Where they were going exactly, she did not know.

\- What does this man want with me? – Her lips were as pale as her face as she spoke.

\- I don't know. – Jon sighed. – I don't want to know what he might do if he ever lays his hands on you. – Jon's hands were shaking. – He's vile Sansa.

She knew how vile men can be. She saw the pit of humanity where everything pure was extinguished, little girls with glow in their eyes were sold like candy. Where honor is just a word and truth is something no one talks about.

\- The whole world is vile, Jon. – Sansa concluded.

\- I'm afraid you're right.

The road was ending and they approached to the, what seemed to be an old military base. It was round and the walls were cut into the stone, hiding the hallways beneath the surface. It was at the highest point of the hill. Sansa couldn't discern if the base was carved into the stone or the hill surrounded the walls over time. The top of the round structure molded into the mountain was flat and from afar, no one could see that this building even existed. Small windows were the only openings in massive walls.

\- It's called The Crow's Nest. – Said Jon. – Night's Watch used it for many years.

\- It looks abandoned. – Said Sansa watching the structure.

\- It's not. – Jon said slowing the car down. She noticed a single door in the sea of stone made out of thick rusty metal. The snow was cleaned and there were traces of footsteps around the entrance.

The metal doors started opening and seeing that, Jon unbuckled his seatbelt. Sansa remained still, waiting for the person that pushed to door to come out. To her surprise, an old woman started walking towards them. At first, she thought it was Mary, but as she came closer, Sansa realized that she was taller than her. Her head was wrapped in black fabric that was tied in the knot below her chin. A thick coat that reached bellow her knees made her look heavier than she was.

Jon stepped out of the car and walked to greet the woman. She hugged him and kissed his cheek, smiling. Jon signaled to Sansa to come out of the car. She stepped into the snow carefully. Strong wind bit her pale cheeks as she wrapped her hands around herself.

\- Bertrud, this is my sister, Sansa. – Jon said.

\- Hmmm… She's not dressed for this weather. – Bertrud chuckled.

\- Be nice. – Jon smiled at her. Bertrud's pale gray eyes looked at Sansa and the woman didn't even try to hide that she was studying this stranger in front of her. It made Sansa grab Jon's arm, leaning closer to him.

\- Are you cold? – Jon asked her, almost whispering. His warm breath touched her skin as she pressed against his arm.

\- No. – She lied.

\- You sure? – He smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist. Jon wanted to slowly introduce her to his life and people he called friends no matter how hectic things around them were. Bertrud turned her eyes to Jon, but he didn't seem to notice her gaze.

\- Yes. – Sansa returned the smile.

\- We should go then. – His arm moved from her waist, letting her go. The cold air was merciless and it quickly replaced the warmth of Jon's arm.

\- My purse… I need to take my purse. – Sansa didn't even finish the sentence and she left the uncomfortable gaze Bertrud had on her. Jon's look followed her as she walked back to the car and a small smile lingered on the corner of his lips.

\- Jon. – Bertrud called for him quietly. – This one… - She looked at Sansa grabbing her purse from the seat. – Be careful with this one. She is difficult to read.

Before Jon could answer, the old woman turned and started walking back to the entrance of the base. He patiently waited for Sansa to walk back through deep snow but now, there was no smile left on his face.

Crow's Nest was something that belonged to another age. Metal doors opened the view of a small circular room with sparse winter light pouring in through small windows. Outside the Nest seemed bigger, but the thick walls made the space narrower and cluttered with rubble and dust. High ceiling was supported by heavy wooden boards that crossed like ribs. The space opened up into a tunnel whose inches were being slowly devoured by darkness. In one corner stood the carefully stacked sacks. Above them, the wall was black and the stone was damaged. It was almost as cold as outside, and despite the heavy furnace, the fire was not burning. In the middle stood a table made of thick wood with two benches on either side. On one of them sat on a small young woman, holding a blond child, not more than three years old. Sansa was baffled by the scene. She had expected anything but an old woman, a young woman and a child. Besides them, the base seemed empty and the corridor leading to the mountain quiet. She did not leave Jon's side remembering what she had promised, and he held her hand not moving away. The young woman at the table laughed holding a youngster in her lap when she saw Jon.

\- Sam, look who it is! It's Uncle Jon! –

The boy was startled and looked in their direction. It was a chubby child with cheerful blue eyes, dressed in a black winter suit. He honored Jon with his toothless smile awkwardly clapping his little hands. Jon is gently pulled Sansa, letting her know that she should sit. Bertrud already sat on the opposite side to a woman with a child, grumbling something in her strong chin. Jon let the Sansa sit next to the young woman, breaking his warm touch.

\- Uncle Jon forgot to bring gifts for you, but when we get back to Winterfell ... – Said Jon to little Sam and before he was finished Sam stuck his tongue out and leaned back on his mother's chest. Jon smiled brightly at the boy. Just when he wanted to sit next to Sansa, a female voice reaching from the tunnel interrupted him.

\- Jon! – Her voice sounded like chirping.

Sansa looked up, looking over little Sam's shoulders. From the darkness of the tunnel emerged the slender body of a woman dressed from neck to ankles in white. Fur hat covered the scalp full with golden blond hair that cascaded down her shoulders and over lush breasts subdued by the narrow jacket. She walked slowly but firmly. Her neck was surrounded by white fur, and her almond eyes were gray-blue. Her face was small and nose snub and narrow, lips tight, full and pink as rose petals. Everything about her was perfect in proportion; she had narrow waist and long legs. Behind her walked the dog whose height is nearly touched her hips, white as she was and black in his eyes that glistened red.

Sansa's face froze seeing her approach Jon, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body close to him. Jon never mentioned this woman, and more she thought about the scene in front of her, she remembered that Jon never talked about a single person in his life. The hand that was resting on her waist moments ago, embraced a woman in front of him in a tight hug that lasted too long for what Sansa deemed appropriate. A large white dog is brushed Jon's legs finally breaking their arms apart and Jon moved away so he could touch the big dog's head.

\- Sansa, this is Val. – Said Jon, introducing the woman in white. – Val, this is my sister, Sansa.

\- I did not know you had a sister. - Val smiled at Sansa offering her hand wrapped in a white glove. The Sansa accepted her greeting and two women touched in a cold greeting in gloves. Val's touch was firm, squeezing Sansa's fingers through the soft leather.

\- It's so nice to meet some of Jon's family. – The woman sitting next to her added. – I'm Gilly.

\- Nice to meet you Gilly. – Sansa looked at the sleeping child in her arms. She could not help but wonder why there is a place for a small child here. She felt someone's touch on her back and her eyes met Ghost's who gently pushed his snout into the soft fabric of her coat. She looked at the big beast that almost reached her shoulders while sitting and then in Jon.

\- That's Ghost. – Jon smiled sitting next to her. –Don't be afraid, he wants to meet you.

Sansa took off her glove and allowed the dog to sniff her thin fingers. Ghost's rough warm tongue touched her hand and the animal leaned into her palm. Sansa gently stroked his thick white fur. This was enough of an introduction for Ghost and he stepped back, slowly walking to the bags that stood behind them. Settling in front, he lied down and buried his head in paws, eyes closed.

\- He likes you. - Jon smiled at Sansa, trying to relax her. She sat rigidly, with a straight back and almost motionless. Across from her sat Bertrud and all this time she said nothing. She was a strong woman with broad shoulders, vermilion cheeks and bushy eyebrows. Her eyes were carefully watching Sansa. Although Sansa was wearing a long coat, it seemed that she could not hide from her eyes. She wouldn't break the look no matter what everyone else around her did. In this moment, Bertrud reminded Sansa of the way Mary looked at her the first time she saw her. Next to her sat Val, her legs crossed one over the other. Jon spoke first.

\- Where are Sam and Tormund? –He asked looking at Bertrud.

\- They are finished the first part Sam brought. They should be back soon from the port. - Replied Bertrud with her raspy voice. Her voice was deep and coarse, bright red hair was streaked with grays that protruded below the headband, she sat hunched but with legs widespread, like a man. - I hope we're done with the introductions, Jon and I need to talk. - Having said that, she looked at Val and then Sansa. Bertrud was outspoken and her words were more like commands than requests.

\- Calm down, Bertrud. I have to go anyway. - Val cut her off. - Nice to see you in one piece, Jon. - She said almost playfully. She smiled at him reaching out for his hand across the table. She jumped out of the bench and Sansa almost caught Jon watching her walk away. She said nothing, waiting for Jon to respond Bertrud's request. Surprisingly, he remained silent. Gilly spoke instead.

\- Come, Sansa. I have to put little Sam to sleep and you must be tired from your trip. – Gilly looked at Sansa gently.

\- I'll be right with you. – Jon said to her. She reluctantly agreed to leave, following Gilly to that dark tunnel.

\- Ghost! – Jon called for his dog. He raised his head, but remained relaxed on the floor. – Come here, boy. – Jon stood up walking towards Sansa and Gilly. Bertrud watched the scene unfold in front of her like she tried her best to memorize it and Sansa was partly thankful to leave her presence.

\- You stay close to Sansa. – He scratched the dog's head, looking him straight in his reddish eyes. The dog listened and walked to Sansa, waiting for them to move. – If Ghost is with you, it's almost like I'm there too.

\- Really Jon, there is no need... – Sansa felt uncomfortable. She was presented like a little girl not being able to take care of herself. Jon closed the distance between them and whispered – Keep your purse close. I'll be with you soon. – His face became grim.

Hoping that Gilly didn't hear them, she walked away.

\- There is some meat and onion bread to eat. You must be starving. Come. – Gilly pulled her with one hand, holding the sleeping Sam in other. Her face reflected Jon's. Sansa followed her to the opening in the mountain that ended with another door. She helped Gilly open the heavy door, revealing the corridor carved in stone with open spaces on each side. Gilly closed the door behind them quietly.

\- This way. – She nudged Sansa to walk with her.

Before the doors closed, she shared a shy look with her brother. He took her with him to protect her not thinking how will she adapt to his way of living. She didn't seem sad but lost. He was the only thing she knew now and when he couldn't see her anymore, a small gasp escaped him.

\- It's about her? – He sat across Bertrud. She leaned on the table and muttered.

\- Yes.

\- What about her? – Jon's fingers passed through his beard, waiting for Bertrud to continue. She was one of the Wildling matriarchs, a highly respected among her people. The Wildlings worshiped the Old Gods hidden in weirwood trees. Their Gods were cruel, but just, just like their people were. For their worship they gave some of them wondrous gifts - most of the women used dream divination to foretell the future and some could tell your mind just by looking at you. Bertrud was one of them. Jon, on the other hand, never believed that there was any truth in what she said. Old wives tales, divinations from tea leaves under the influence of the herbs and their fumes. She foretold Jon that he will die from the gunshot wound but he still stood alive. She was the first one to call this upon him, something that at times seemed more like a curse.

\- I don't like her. – Bertrud shook her head. – She's weak. Why did you bring her here?

\- Ay, Bertrud, you don't like anyone. – Jon said. – You don't like your own son even. Why would I care what do you think about Sansa?

\- My son is impulsive and wild, I will not hide that. – She almost growled. – But I know who he is. Why do you care for her? You hate your family.

\- I don't hate them. – Jon felt like he was retreating under her words. All his life cared little for the Starks. He could not hate them as much as he wanted to, he could not hate Sansa as he expected even though she wore the face of her mother.

\- You speak the truth. You don't hate them. – A cunning smirk flew over her face. – How could you, they are the reason you stand here.

\- I'm tired of that story. – Said Jon.

\- You can't allow yourself to be tired. – Bertrud chuckled, almost enjoying seeing Jon twitch.

He buried his face in his hands, sighing.

\- Just like I can't allow myself to be dead. – He whispered. Bertrud's wide palm reached for him, grabbing him by the arm.

\- Much is at cost Jon if that happens.

He listened to her carefully, but his mind was somewhere else. The talk of old customs, duty and vows after all these years made him exhausted. Most of the time, he did things not thinking about them and he wished for nothing more than for this to end.

\- Unbind me. – He muttered his voice tight and tense. – Unbind me. – He repeated. I'm not a Stark, I'm a Snow, unbind me.

\- I can't do that. And even if I could, I wouldn't do it. – Bertrud's face became covered with a shadow and pale gray eyes were laced with a strange white blanket.

\- Do you know what I wanted? When he shot me? – Jon's throat became clogged with anger. – I wanted to die.

Bertrud sighed watching Jon becoming infused with anger. She was aware that he had enough, he was not ready for all that the North brought to him and he had to suffer. But the ink is dry.

\- If you die, the North dies with you. – Just as many times before, she had to remind him of what he had to do. The North was an ancient land that had its laws which no one could escape.

\- I know. – Said Jon, his lips barely moving. – And if I die, Sansa dies too.

Bertrud looked at him with curiosity in her eyes. She leaned in, studying his face.

\- How can you care for a dead thing? – A sharp coldness crawled underneath his coat. To him, Sansa was anything but dead. – She is dead, an empty shell, beautiful but dead.

\- Careful. – Jon straightened his back. – That's my sister you're insulting.

\- I see nothing in her but an empty abyss that swallows light. Nothing exists in there. You care for her too much. There is no need for you to care about her. – Bertrud tried to be gentle. – If she is hurt, or, Gods forbid, dead, nothing would happen. You would only suffer. Like you suffered when Ygritte died.

Fire blazed through Jon's fingers listening to her. He stood up, face deformed in anger. He wanted Bertrud to be quiet, to stop saying things that hurt him more than he expected they will. He was in between. Between Stark and Snow, between his love and duty for the North, between his despair and honor and between who he thought he was and who everyone else wanted him to be.

\- Unbind me. – He growled hovering over the old woman.

\- No one can unbind you from the North. – She was calm. – This land is yours. If you choose to abandon it because you're sick of it or because of her, it will be a sin you would carry to your grave.

He collapsed on the bench, broken.

\- He wants to hurt her. I can't protect the North, I can't protect her. – Jon looked at Bertrud with an empty gaze.

\- Dear Jon... – Said Bertrud. – Don't allow yourself for her to be a liability. Don't make that mistake again.

\- Stop! – He yelled, hoping that on the other side of the door, Sansa hasn't heard him. – She's not a liability... She's my sister.

His little sister. Jon had a good heart and he always gave more than he received. When she walked into his life, he hoped she would leave quickly. Now, he cannot abandon her. The girl reached out to him and Jon couldn't do anything but to embrace her in his home. He refused to believe that she was dead inside. A person that saved his life twice cannot be dead.

\- I'm so tired of it all, Bertrud. – His voice lowered in sadness. – I always fight someone else's wars. I'm never free...

Bertrud, no matter how strong she was, couldn't stop a tear rolling down her cheek. Ever since he was a boy, he never had a normal life or family. Now, the whole North rests on the shoulders of a man that doesn't have a right to call himself a Stark. She began to realize that maybe in Sansa Jon finally found family he never had. Family is a liability in times like this, but it would be far too cruel to take it away from him.

\- I'm sick of your magic, divinations ad prophecies. None of it matters. – Jon whispered. – Promise me one thing, Bertrud.

\- What? – She asked.

\- You will not interfere with her dreams. She sleeps uneasy as is.

Bertrud sighed, but finally said – Her dreams are safe from me.

Jon stood up, walking to the doors that lead into the mountain. His head was heavy and his legs moved like they were made out of lead.

\- Jon! – Bertrud called for him. He didn't turn. – If you die, she's the last of the Starks. And North cannot depend on a dead thing.

\- The walls are warm. – Sansa said touching the rigid carved walls. Gilly led her to one of the rooms that were carved into the mountain. She was surprised seeing Gilly turn on the switch at the entrance. The whole long corridor became lit with flickering yellow lights. Gilly explained to Sansa that parts of the base were still connected to the power plant in Eastwatch by the Sea.

\- Yes. – Gilly nodded. – There is a geyser that flows through the mountain keeping the walls warm. Men of the Night's Watch were smart to build their base here.

The room was an improvised bedroom with old matrasses on the floor. Gilly gently placed sleeping Sam in one of the beds and two women moved to the small table next to it. From one of the large metal cases Gilly pulled out some bread and salted meat for Sansa to eat. She was grateful, but she couldn't force herself to eat. Her mind was with Jon.

Just as Jon promised, Ghost never left her side and the dog sat next to her hoping she will give him some of her food. Despite his size, he was a gentle animal, nudging his head into Sansa's lap.

\- I've never seen a dog this big. – Commented Sansa looking at Ghost's large head resting on her lap.

\- He's not a dog. – Gilly smiled taking a small piece of bread. – He's a direwolf. – Ghost took the bread out of her hand, happily chewing it.

\- Jon saved him when he was a pup and ever since then, he never left Jon's side. – Gilly explained.

Sansa watched the large animal. He had strong and long legs completely covered in thick fur. Ghost was white as snow with large benevolent eyes. Direwolf was a Stark sigil but she never saw one in person.

\- What is in these rooms? – Sansa asked.

\- Maybe it's better if Jon explains that. – She answered shyly. She was a gentle woman with a thin frame. Her voice was high and somewhat squeaky. She spoke slowly, with a thick accent and Sansa was grateful for that.

Ghost raised his head hearing the footsteps on the corridor. It was Jon. Sansa sighed in relief seeing him. His face seemed worried, but he smiled at her nonetheless.

\- I'll leave you two alone. – Gilly stood up but Jon stopped her.

\- That won't be necessary. Be with your son. Sansa… - He said her name with a strain in his voice. She stood up and walked with him down the corridor. Ghost followed her, slightly brushing her legs as he walked. They entered one of the rooms that was more a cave than a space fit for humans to live in. He walked in first and Sansa followed him closely, wondering what he will say. The room was smaller than Gilly's room, with a single bed on one side and a wooden chest on the other. None of the rooms had doors, but the opening that led into this one was narrower than the one before. A single light bulb was hanging from the carved ceiling, connecting to the wires that led outside and to other rooms.

\- You can sleep here. – Jon said.

\- Okay… - Her voice sounded thin and weak.

\- I'm sorry Sansa… - Jon bowed his head, inhaling the cold air around them. She walked closer to him, her hand softly touching the blackness of his coat.

\- For what? – She asked him, hoping he would look at her.

\- For how things worked out. – He raised his head. His eyebrows were scrunched and his eyes dim. – This is not a place for you. – Said Jon, thinking of how he brought her to this god forsaken place on Earth. How he expected she will adapt to it without questions.

But all Sansa could here is the words that the North is not a place for her to be. She felt like he was chasing her away from his life. Pain clutched her heart in a tight grasp and she managed to mutter though tears – Why is this not a place for me?

Jon pulled away and sat on the bed.

\- When this is over, tomorrow night I'm taking you home. – Jon couldn't force himself to look at her. If he did, he would saw that her face started shivering and her pale cheeks laced with red became damp with tears.

\- I have no home, Jon. – She whispered, standing above him. He hid from her, from her tears. – I hadn't had a home in a long while.

\- The South is your home. – He groaned. – You should be as far away from here as possible.

Jon's ears were riven by her cry. He pressed his lips tightly, holding his tears.

\- Jon… - She pleaded. – This is my home. Don't push me away…

\- No. – He gargled in his tears. – If there is war…I could not bear if something happened to you.

\- Look at me! – She yelled, her words clogged were clogged in her throat. – Look at me, Jon! If there is a war, it's my war too. The North… Is my home.

His eyes met hers, both filled with tears.

\- I am a Stark, I will always be a Stark. – Her whole body trembled like a birch on water. – This is my home and I'm not leaving. You are my brother. – Sansa took a step closer to him. Jon was not able to move, his hands were passively interlocked watching her. No matter what she said, she was afraid, so very afraid of losing the little she had left. To her, Jon was the only ray of sunlight she had left standing between her and the gaping abyss of pain and emptiness she held in her. If he leaves her now, there is nothing but darkness left.

\- You are my brother. – She repeated. – And you are a Stark to me… - Sansa whispered sitting next to him. – No matter what I or anyone else thought.

Jon closed his eyes, pushing one stubborn tear down his cheek. A deep breath left his lungs in that moment while the words she said echoed in his head.

You are a Stark.

Even though he will never be able to look at himself as a Stark, in her eyes he finally was. His hand touched her soft hair. He pressed his forehead against hers and the warmth of her pale skin tingled in the place where they touched.

\- I have no money and I don't care for it anymore… - Sansa spoke slowly. The breath leaving her mouth traveled across the small gap dividing them and brushed his lips. – I don't care about the fame, it never brought me any good. – She continued.

Like the water under high pressure finally having the cork removed, words lifted easily from her tongue for the first time in years.

\- I don't care for excitements of the big city, it's all a lie, Jon. – Her hand found its way to his cheek and his rugged beard scratched the surface of her gentle palm. She closed her eyes letting her fingers pass through his beard. He was silent but his chin shivered underneath her touch. - I lost one family. I'm not going to lose you… - She finished.

Her words washed over him in warm waves like soft silk and velvet. His other hand grabbed her face, holding it firmly and he opened his eyes only to find hers already looking at him. Jon leaned in and sensed her holding her breath. Thin invisible strings pulled him closer and he didn't have any strength to resist them. His dry lips could almost feel the salt that lingered on hers.

But she didn't pull away.

Her hand traveled down his neck and stopped at the place where his heart was. Sansa's pale fingers were shaking underneath strong beats of his heart. She pressed her hand on his heart gently and feeling the fire ooze out of her fingertips and burning the skin underneath the clothes he closed the final gap between them.

He barely dared to touch her lips. The smoothness he felt was inviting like the grass field in spring, like the forest after the rain, like the mothers bosom.

It was hardly a kiss, but she didn't break it.

His beard pierced the soft skin around her lips and she inhaled its smell. Jon smelled like home.

The flesh of their lips stuck together like glue and neither of them was aware what they were doing. It was no longer cold, dark or frightening. The Crow's Nest was dipped in the darkness they left below them and it felt right. She was suddenly lifted with him, there was no space between them and one could not distinguish where he stopped and where she started. They drank of each other's lips like a starving man in a desert, finally reaching an oasis. The need she felt for him fell on every feeling she ever felt crumbling it to dust.

In that moment he wasn't her brother, or her half-brother or someone she despised for so long. He was Jon, just Jon, only Jon.

She kissed the North in him and felt closer to herself than ever. But he pulled away and the vacuous hole that swallowed them dispersed as quickly as it formed. Sansa could hear his words in the distance, muffled by low hum of her own thoughts.

I should leave you to rest. I should leave you…

Jon left the room, leaving her and Ghost alone. The longer she kissed him, tenser he became, his movements stiff and brittle. When he finally stopped kissing her, his face was terrified and lost, it had been morphed into a gray mass that quivered in front of her. He took breaths that were quick, but shallow, interrupted by the words he spoke. It took Sansa some time to collect her thoughts when he left. It was as if she was someone else in that moment. It didn't felt real. The music filled her ears; a slow violin played a sad tune on the tendons of her heart. Every time she blinked a piano key struck a new sound. Her ribcage came crashing inside her. The music was unnerving, constantly reminding her of her past and something she felt before, terrifying and cold, like an abandoned foggy world she dared not to enter.

What if, what if…

Her mind broke free and her thoughts became beings of their own. They landed on her shoulders like a flock of birds, chirping in her ear.

\- Look what you've done. – They whispered. – This is wrong, Sansa. Can't you do anything right?

\- This didn't happen. – She thought to herself. – I…

\- There is nothing redeeming about you. You should just go. You're too far gone. – A single thought was stuck in her head like a splinter. – It would be better if you would just disappear.

Ghost nudged her leg, forcing her to focus on him. She touched his head hesitantly but the animal was persistent. He sat next to her and licked her palm. It didn't help. She saw the dog, the walls and the bed she was in but in her mind, she was buried alive.

\- Air, I need air... - She whispered.

Sansa collapsed on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. The hard mattress became softer. Like an alive matter, it started to move, to sway her like a paper boat on water.

\- Let me die. - Her lips moved but she produced no sound. - It's too hard. It has always been too hard. Let me die.

\- You're a coward. - She heard his voice. - You don't want to die. You are a spoiled brat...

\- You won't leave me alone? - She closed her eyes enduring a great pain. Ghost watched her in confusion. His wet black snout touched the tip of her nose ever so slightly, like he was trying to call her back. He was a great beast, yet he was gentle to her, a girl he didn't knew. Her one hand found its way to her purse. She grabbed her pills and pressed them firmly on her chest.

\- Just a little bit longer. - Sansa whispered. Saying that, she popped three pills out of their plastic pockets. She swallowed them without water, pushing them stubbornly down her esophagus. Her chest hurt from it, but she didn't mind the psychical pain. As she closed her eyes, waiting, Ghost started to whimper quietly, wanting to climb into bed with her. She let him, making some space in the narrow bed for the large dog. He lied next to her, his fury back breaking her arms she held around herself.

\- I wish I could be like you. - She said to the dog. - Do your thoughts keep you a prisoner? Do they torment you at night, do they make you cry even though your eyes are dry for tears? Do they come without a warning? Do you wake up and go to sleep with the weight so heavy it makes breathing impossible? - Her hand was resting on Ghost's belly, moving as the dog took in deep breaths.

\- Let me die. - She whispered as the black lace of a dreamless sleep covered her sight.

In that moment, she hoped she would disappear into thin air. Like droplets of water dripping down and hitting your skull, slowly drilling a hole, it's not the droplet that kills you, it's the persistency of it. The piano struck a dissonant key and the bed underneath her opened swallowing her. Her body found no hold but the dog sleeping next to her. She buried her fingers deep in his fur, closing her eyes and hoping for it to pass. Ghost smelled like wet fabric and soiled skin. His fur was tangled in places where he was dirty but she dug her face in his neck nonetheless.

Small flickering lights emerged from the thick darkness and filled the air around her like fireflies. They gently hit her face but they were strangely cold to the touch. The lights formed around her, carrying her and Ghost, slowing down their fall. Sansa felt their embrace but she was too afraid to open her eyes. It was all too familiar to her, the fall, the darkness, the music. Her body landed on the wet ground, still holding the large animal close. The grass tickled her cheek as she lifted her eyelids hoping that what she will see would be only a dream. She found herself in a children's playground. A soft silver fog covered the ground in a thin layer that was so light even her breath could push it. Sensing his paws on the ground, Ghost stood up, licking her face.

It was dead silent. The absence of sound made Sansa's ears buzz. She stood up, looking around her. The grass field extended as far as she could see. There was no sky and when she looked up only thing she saw was the air gradually turning into milky fog that slowly shifted like smoke. There was no wind and the swings on the playground stood completely motionless. The playground was enclosed from every side with a white metal fence. But she couldn't see the door that would lead her out. Her left hand grabbed Ghost's neck. He was warm and alive just as she was. But contrary to Sansa, Ghost didn't seem scared. She had to ask herself was she dead? It seemed more than a dream, but less than a reality.

\- Will you sing a song for me? A song so innocent that no one will mind whatever may be spoken in between the lines. – A whisper, like a worm crawled to her. She could almost sense his breath on her neck.

\- I'm dreaming. – She muttered still holding Ghost close to her. He didn't left her side, just like Jon promised. – Nothing can happen, I'm dreaming.

She turned her head slightly, too afraid to turn completely. She caught a glimpse of a small boy playing in the sand. He was thin, defenseless, with pale gray skin and a bird on his shoulder. He sat with his legs widespread, slouching over his broken toys. He collected the parts, counting them and then he would start assembling the toys back to their form but they looked nothing like the original. The heads of the dolls he would leave on the ground, pushing the legs where arms should be. There was something oddly satisfying but uneasy about the way he assembled his toys. He was calm and he didn't seem to notice her.

\- It's a dream. – She repeated to herself. – I'll wake up soon.

There was no one else with them so she took a step closer, her eyes not leaving the strange boy in front of her. Ghost followed her closely, brushing her leg as they walked.

She stopped, keeping a safe distance between them. Clearing her throat, she spoke to him.

\- I'm sorry…what is this place?

The boy looked at her. His eyes were red and his small face was wet from crying. – I don't know. – He answered, on a verge of tears.

\- Who are you? – Sansa asked again. The bird on his shoulder chirped at the tune of her voice. He didn't seem to be bothered by it. He continued counting his toys zealously.

\- I don't know. – The small boy repeated. He was dressed in pants that reached his knees and a stained shirt. Small scars covered his thin legs. He was barefoot, playing with his toes in the sand. Ghost just watched the boy and the boy didn't seem to mind the animal with a mouth so large, he could fit his whole head in it if he wanted.

She felt sorry for a boy that was doomed to suffer in her dream. Sansa knelt next to him. Maybe this way he might talk to her. Ghost stood next to her, hovering over her shoulder.

\- What happened to your toys? – She asked him, this time gently.

\- I broke them. – The boy answered calmly. – So no one can steal them. No one wants broken things.

Hearing that, Sansa looked around her again. The playground was still empty and hauntingly quiet.

\- Who…who wants to steal them? – She moved her cheek closer to Ghost. His warm breath comforted her.

\- Mean people. – The boy whispered. – Look! – He called Sansa, holding one of the deformed toys in small hands. – This one couldn't run fast enough so I made him better.

Sansa looked at the headless doll. In place of arms, the doll had legs.

\- That's not the way… - She started speaking but just the sight of the misshaped doll made the boy smile so she said – It looks like a hound now, doesn't it?

\- I'm afraid of dogs. – The boy frowned. Sansa watched him in confusion and then it dawned on her. The boy did not even once look at Ghost standing next to her. Her hand touched his paw just to feel it being there.

\- But you're not afraid of this one? – Before the boy could answer, loud voices spread through the fog. Sansa jumped back on her feet, frantically searching for the faces that were yelling in the distance.

A strong young man emerged from the fog. His steps were long and fast and his face angry. She took a step back, reaching for Ghost's fur. The man's body passed through the white fence like it was made out of dust. The boy screamed but remained sitting on the ground. He covered his face with his pale hands screaming for the man to leave. The man held a knife.

Behind the man a tall young woman followed. Her strong cheekbones and thin lips were something Sansa barely recognized. The woman looked like her, but she was more thin and frail. She called for the man, but he didn't stop.

\- No. No… Don't hurt him. – Sansa said.

\- Don't hurt him! He's just a boy. – The woman repeated her words.

But neither of them could stop the man. Sansa was frozen in place, just like the little boy and the woman Sansa knew. And before her eyes, slowly and inevitably the man dragged the knife from the boy's navel to his collarbone. Warm blood seeped through his wound and as it flowed down his delicate limbs, his body started to shape into a grown man.

His short black hair with silver strands on his temples was something Sansa knew too well. The bird that chirped on his shoulder found its nest next to his heart, bathing its silver feathers in red liquid. There was no one else but them anymore.

\- It's not a dream, it's a memory… - Sansa whispered. – It's not a dream… This happened.

The bird on his chest melted in a small cloud of smoke and as it disappeared, Petyr's body shrank back to his child self. The boy was dead and in his place, the mockingbird was born.

\- I have to leave this place. – She thought to herself and ran to the white fence. But to her surprise her body was as real as it ever was and she couldn't pass through it. The harder she tried, the higher the fence seemed. When she touched the cold steel it grew like grass, metal rods intertwined like ivy forming a dome above her. Ghost growled seeing the darkness growing around them. He became restless as she was.

\- Will you sing for us, sweetling? – A pair of glistening gray eyes watched her from above. Other faces started to form around the cage.

\- Little dove. – She heard a woman's voice. The head framed in gold smiled at her. – Roasted like chestnuts they were. Do you know who killed them? Did you ever ask? – The woman laughed. – Of course not. Stupid little girl.

\- A wolf trapped in a cage. What a rare sight. – In the distance, the voices were joined with another one. It belonged to a man Sansa only met once but it was enough to remember him forever.

\- No…no! – Sansa screamed in agony, covering her ears. Her legs betrayed her and she collapsed to the ground.

The voices laughed at her and every sound tore her head apart. A hammer pounded on her chest and she felt like she could explode if they continued even a second longer.

\- Listen to me. – Someone spoke to her. A soft hum made out of warm wind danced in her hair. – It will be okay but you have to stay awake. Don't listen to them.

\- I can't. – She couldn't peel her eyes from the dome above her. – I can't. Let me die.

\- No. – The wind passed behind her ears and down her neck in a gentle touch. – Talk to me, Sansa.

She struggled to breathe underneath what it seemed was a world of burden.

\- A heart is a heavy burden. – The voice whispered. – Let me help you.

\- No… - A warm tear escaped her. – It's mine to carry. – She gasped. – I will carry it forever.

She closed her eyes as the wind covered her in its grasp like a warm blanket. She was lifted off the ground with it like a dry leaf. The cage crumbled and shattered and she passed through its remains effortlessly. Sansa curled up in whatever was carrying her feeling the blissful sleep taking over her. She was placed in her bed gently as if she was made out of glass. She smelled the stale sheets and felt the hard pillow underneath her head but it made her feel serene.

Just as she was going to drift off into a deep sleep, she felt Ghosts wet and coarse tongue on her cheek. She opened her eyes to move his head away.

\- Ghost, stop…

His eyes were black as the night sky.

\- I know you… - She whispered, not being able to move.

Yes. – The soft hum grazed her ears, neck and shoulders. It travelled around her and she felt it everywhere at once. It hugged her whole body and held it as she fell asleep. – You know me.

She felt someone's eyes at the back of her head slowly studying the strands of her hair on the pillow.

She slept for hours, it was a good and deep, dreamless sleep. Sometimes she felt her safe silent unconsciousness was just painfully intersected by the states of waking and that in fact she was constantly sleeping. She turned slowly and thought the dark she saw Jon sitting on a wooden box, staring at the floor. Ghost was by his feet, a big white head rested on his thick paws. She felt exposed, despite the dark and the blanket that reached her chin.

\- How do you feel? - He asked her, hesitating.

She did not answer. The man who was sitting in the dark looked exhausted. His shoulders were hunched and his hands crushed on his knees. Even his voice trembled. She did not know what to answer. An image of Jon pressed against her face and lips was her equally disturbing as the fact that he was with her the whole time, that he had heard her, that she could no longer hide.

She sat up in her bed, holding a blanket to her chest. Her eyelids were still heavy from the deep sleep that would always occur after she took the pills. It was not a natural sleep nor it was remotely close to a dream of a honorable man who is rewarded every night for his efforts.

\- What time is it? What are you doing here? - She tried to defend herself, to make him uncomfortable so he ultimately would leave.

\- Well after midnight, I do not know. - Replied Jon.

Sansa looked around after her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She could have sworn that if she remains quietly enough, she could hear the water streaming though the rocks.

\- You've been watching me sleep? - She insisted on avoiding answering his question. She had every right to be angry with him and even though she did not know exactly what had happened, she knew she had no power to deal with it now.

\- I cannot sleep. - He never answered the question.

\- Why? - She knew why, but she wanted to leave him to say it, to decide to go in that direction.

\- I'm sorry. I did not mean to upset you. - He spoke slowly, exhausted, but did not move.

Jon struggled with himself. Since she came to him, it seemed that whatever he did had led to a dead end. He was trapped in a cage and in the middle of that cage he was holding another one in which rested the weary soul of his sister, and one that was firmly locked from the inside. Whatever had happened to Sansa, it was eating her alive. She was burning before his eyes. Fear followed her, swallowed her and imbued her. When that happened, it was difficult to call her back. But when it was quiet, she was a lovely creature. Wounded and timid that wanted nothing more except peace.

\- Do you trust me, Sansa? - He asked after a short silence. She turned her head to the side and muttered.

-No.

\- I'll keep your body safe, so I can do, if you let me. – He said with a lump in his throat. – I will not help you with anything else, if you do not ask for it.

Sansa looked at him. He was quiet and distant, his speech was empty and monotonous. He inhaled deeply and stood up.

\- I'm leaving you now. I came to check on you. - Ghost stood up with him. - If you need anything, Bertrud is awake, she can help you.

He stopped resorting to her and reconciled with her silence. She will be here but she will be alone on the edge of the world, in the dark and finally without anyone. No friends, no family, no Jon. No money, no support. She could not talk to him, but it was not because of Jon. She could not talk to anyone. Shame, guilt, confusion and fear were too large of a wall to pass.

\- Jon! – She quietly whispered his name, stopping him at the exit. - You heard me, right?

\- Yes. – He confirmed. - I'm sorry. I will not ever touch you again. What had happened, it is better to forget.

\- So you saw what I saw? - Sansa asked. - You knew about it, you knew how it works ... - Her voice started shivering.

\- It was just a dream, Sansa. - He still hid his face from her.

\- It was a memory and it made me sick! - She started yelling. - You know it is, how else could have Ghost been in there? He turned and looked at her. He promised her that he would never lie to her.

\- It was a dream. - He repeated. – People can dream strange things in the North. Don't get your mind tangled in it.

Sansa was on the verge of madness. She could not control her thoughts and the fear was laying waste through her heart. She was confused, worried but most of all, she was afraid. - I don't want to dream. – She whispered. – My dreams scare me.

He stepped closer to her. – I won't ask you what you dream of. I won't ask you anything. It's not my right to know. – He finished.

\- I wish I could speak of it. – Her yaw shook as she spoke. – But I can't. It's less real if I don't speak of it.

\- Then don't. – Said Jon.

\- It's eating me alive and I will disappear but still be here if I don't talk. – Her eyes were fixated at an unspecified point in space.– You heard me. I want to die while there is still some of me left...

Jon had listened to her in disbelief. He knew she was suffering, but he could not imagine how much. It is took a step closer to her, trying not to scare her more.

\- Don't speak about it. – He pleaded. – Tell me a story about a good memory, about anything else, but if it hurts you, don't speak of it.

\- I feel the need to, but I can't. It is knowing what you want to say and never finding the words. It is a chorus, replaced with silence. – Sansa's voice became mellow. – I can only speak without meaning because if I speak about something real enough, everything comes back to me. It's too cruel to be real.

What a sad creature she was. Her family, her beauty, everything she was stolen from her. There was nothing left but a puddle of bad memories. How anything so sad could ever be so beautiful, Jon wondered.

\- I can't tell you, you will think of me differently. You'll think that I'm weak, undeserving. – Her empty gaze was clouded with tears but she didn't cry. – I don't deserve anything Jon, I'm so, so…Inadequate.

\- Would it help you if I spoke first? – Jon asked.

\- No, no… - She was shaking. – I can't tell anyone, they all say they understand, but I see in their eyes that they think less of me. I…I can't.

Jon sat still and he wasn't sure would it help her if he got up and just came closer. So he remained sitting, watching her.

\- You wouldn't care, no one would. – The words came out of her like water, unrefined and honest. – They should have kept me in the asylum, far away from everything. It's so dissonant, all of it. So shifted, so wrong…

She spoke like he wasn't there. Her eyes were looking at the floor, she crossed her arms on her chest like she was trying to hold herself.

\- I am ashamed. – Sansa whispered after a long silence. – I'm ashamed of everything I've done. That's why I can't speak of it. I'm bad, I'm weak and I can't forget. I can't forgive myself.

\- I am ashamed of some things too. – Jon added. – Can I tell you something? – She didn't say anything so he continued.

\- I was always alone, I was born into this world alone and I will die alone. – He started. – I never had a real family so I don't know how it is to lose it. I never had a sense of normalcy, I don't know how it is to lose that too. I can only imagine what you've been through. – Jon sighed. – But I do have regrets, I do have nightmares.

\- How? – Sansa interrupted him. – You've always been so strong, so honorable. I'm the one that's completely alone.

\- I killed people in war. – He answered. – And I felt no remorse, no guilt. I imagined them wearing the faces of people I wanted to hurt and somehow, it made me not care. But when I started thinking about it, I would crumble. – He stopped, thinking. – I felt guilty for not feeling guilty.

\- Don't look back Jon! – She said. – Don't look back. It drags your heart until you can't do anything but to look back. – It was a desperate plea. She was tearing apart in front of him, between the suffocating grasp of her memories and pain they cause.

\- I imagined them wearing faces of your mother. Our father. – He muttered, this time watching her reaction. – They always smiled, they were always happy, somewhere far away without me.

He found no traces of anger on her face. She was too tired to even begin processing the horror he felt. No one can ever truly feel how we feel. But she did ask him a silent question.

\- Did you ever saw my face among them? – She wanted to hear him say 'no'.

\- Never. – A corner of his mouth twitched in a shy smile.

Even though darkness he saw the sweet relief passing down her face.

\- I'm no good, Sansa. – He shook his head.

\- No, don't say that. – She gasped. – It pains me to hear that. You took me in, you accepted me, you forgave me. – Her blue eyes flickered in the dark. – You can never be bad.

\- And you saved me, person you hated your whole life. – Jon chuckled. – Why are you so keen on believing you are any worse than me?

The cage tightened and this time, Jon felt it. He held a gentle little bird in a cage of her own making. Do you call someone a bird if they wish to stay behind the bars?

\- If you don't want to tell me, I will not ask. – He said. – Never again. I will never get close to you if you don't want me to, if you don't wish to speak, I will not. But whatever you wish, if it's in my power, I will do it.

Sansa listened to his steady voice, a peaceful music in the long night. He was there, awake, with her.

\- Why? – She asked waiting for an explanation.

He slightly shrugged, smiled and said. - I don't know, it just comes to me.

\- I didn't want you to die. – Sansa whispered and he smiled at her. – But not because I cared for you, but because I didn't wanted to be left alone. – She felt the tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. – I'm horrible. – Her chest hurt and she pressed her hands like she was trying to hold her heart from jumping out.

Seeing her like this, Jon jumped on his feet, rushing towards her though the darkness. He knelt underneath her and grabbed both of her hands in his. He kissed them gently, her palms and the tips of her fingers as she cried.

\- Don't do this. I don't care. – He spoke between kisses.

\- I wanted you to get closer to me. – She looked him in the eyes. – I wanted to feel you holding me. It was wrong Jon, so wrong.

He stopped kissing her soft skin but he didn't let go of her hands. They watched each other, frozen in this moment, waiting for one of them to speak.

\- Whatever you wish and it's in my power, I will do it. – He repeated rising up and before she could answer, he wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tightly. The smell of her hair, soft peonies and lavender washed over his face. His hand passed through her red waves and he whispered – I love… - He stopped, swallowing his words. – I love the way you regret things, with so much innocence.

Jon pulled away, looking at the porcelain skin of her face. She felt his breath coming closer, the warm bonfire of a home. But before she could ever enter in the land he promised her, she had to say something that was boiling inside her for months.

\- I killed a man, Jon. – Everything went cold. – And the memory of him haunts me.


End file.
